


The Fun in Firsts

by TheMadChatter02 (TheMadChatter)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anxiety, Anxious Castiel, Boys Kissing, Cas gets a tattoo, Cas is from a Creepy Warrior cult, Castiel doesn't fare much better on the 'over a boy' front, Charlie Ships It, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean quietly looses his mind over a boy, Fluff, Gabe owns a bakery, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Mary Winchester Lives, Nervous Dean, Recovering Alcoholic Dean, Sam is just a normal college student, Socially Awkward Castiel, Tattoo Artist Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadChatter/pseuds/TheMadChatter02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Librarian!Cas is been convinced to go to a workplace party where they have rented out Tattooartist!Dean's shop. The two meet and seem to hit it off right away (Charlie KNEW it). But with Castiel's ever-present social anxiety and Dean baggage (he's the first to admit - there's a LOT of it), can they make it work? See, cuz that's the tricky thing about free will...</p><p>Follow our two favourite awkwardbunnies as they navigate a relationship, family, and life without ghosts (because sometimes real life can be way scarier than wendigos).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a tag on tumblr from tattoeddean (pulled from a comment from fangirl0013) 
> 
> It's kind of gotten a life of its own now, though. I love it a little. :-) Unbeta'd so sorry about that. Thanks to the original character creators for letting me play in their character sandbox for a while!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel meet for the first time, thanks to a little luck and some pushing from Dean's best friend.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

 

The sound of a tattoo machine hard at work was the first thing Castiel heard when he opened the door to Heavenly Ink Tattoo Parlor. The “Closed” sign on the door contrasted starkly with the brightly lit and crowded interior, where it looked like most of the library's staff (and a few people he didn't know) loitered, laughed, and generally socialized. This was the exact opposite of Castiel's normal Wednesday nights.

 

How he had let Balthazar talk him into something like this was still a little beyond him, but the charismatic head librarian had plyed him with coffee and a promise not to abandon him amongst their coworkers for a shot with the newest intern, so here he was. Castiel hovered uncertainly near the front door, peering around partitions and the open pizza boxes lined up on the front counter of the shop trying to see if he could spot his erstwhile supervisor before he had to talk to -

 

“Oh my GOD, it's actually CasTiEL!”

 

anyone he didn't want to...

 

“Hello, Becky,” Castiel stated flatly in greeting, still scanning the smallish shop for Balthazar. The place wasn't that large, where was the tall, blonde man possibly hiding? Becky bounced over to him and continued enthusiastically, unperturbed by her companion's lack of engagement.

 

“OhMyGod, I'm so glad you finally came out! I've told Sam alllll about you and how you never come out to anything. But here you are! Who got you to come? Are you getting a tattoo? Oh My Gosh, here! Have some pizza! Do you want a beer? Technically, you're not supposed to drink if you're getting a tattoo, though... here, there's soda!” The library's exuberant student body outreach coordinator had taken hold of Castiel's arm and lead him helplessly over to the registration area of the shop, where pizza and drinks were arranged neatly on the black countertop. He suddenly found himself with a bottle of Blue Moon and a paper plate in his hand, as he abandoned his scanning for Blathazar and realized Becky had never stopped talking to him.

 

“- even though he's not really a tattoo artist. (But I think he definitely could be... he's so smart). Anyway, I'm SO glad Charlie started these get togethers, they have been SUCH a great opportunity to get to know the interns, and people get really creative with their artwork. Speaking of which, what are you getting? I've got Christopher Robin and Pooh on my... um... on the back of my hip. And I think Charlie's running out of space, are you getting something librariany? Oh! You should get something from the Dewey Decimal system since you're still mourning the card catalogue!” She giggled, and Castiel frowned slightly. He was still a bit upset over the university's insistence that the card catalogue be officially taken out of service. (It had been relegated to the basement, though Castiel still updated it with their new acquisitions, unbeknownst to the administration). He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could make a sound, a large man with long hair tied back with a bandanna and a Stanford Intermural Volleyball tshirt sidled up next to Becky and swung a lanky arm around her shoulder. He smiled a friendly, open smile at Castiel and addressed the girl next to him with a small bump to her side.

 

“Hey, Becks! Calm your jets, yeah? Your date looks like he's standing in front of a leafblower.” He laughed amicably, while Becky turned an interesting shade of tomato-red and started to bluster.

 

“Oh. He's- He – Hahahaha! He's not my... Sam, he's _definitely_ not, I mean I'd never bring a _date_ here.” She shook herself a little and cleared her throat, obviously transitioning into the persona Castiel was used to seeing during professional outreach events at the library. “Sam Winchester, let me introduce you to Castiel Novak,” she gestured between the two of them and stepped aside as Sam offered a handshake in greeting. “Sam works here at the shop! Sam, Castiel here is one of our senior research librarians at KU. He hasn't been to one of these little get togethers yet.”

 

“No kidding? Well, welcome! I'm surprised Charlie hasn't managed to drag you here yet – I thought she'd managed to beg, barter, and blackmail to get pretty much everyone at the library here at least once.” Sam had a solid handshake and, for such an imposing man, seemed enthusiastic and genuine. Castiel felt himself relax minutely.

 

“Yes, I've been invited several times but I'm afraid I've never managed to...,” Castiel gestured vaguely, realizing belatedly that he would have to explain the whole social anxiety thing if he continued. He coughed and continued. “I wish I knew Charlie better – she seems very friendly. I don't have any tattoos, however I have seen that she has several. They are... colorful.” He winced inwardly at his own attempt at smalltalk, but Sam just laughed. It was an open sound - inviting.

 

The taller man looked towards the back of the shop where the sound of tattoo machines could be heard from where they were standing.

 

“Colorful, indeed. Charlie's a pistol, that's for sure. She and my brother've been friends for _ever_. I think she was the first person he tattooed besides himself... and she's still going! I think it's Leia sitting on a 20-sided die tonight.” He shook his head in mock-disappointment. “God, they are such nerds.” He shoulder-checked Becky lightly. “'Course, people could say the same thing about all of us, I guess, huh?”

 

Becky giggled a little too hard before nodding in agreement. Castiel squinted at her and tilted his head slightly, utterly baffled at her strange behavior. Sam seemed non-plussed, however, and pressed on. “So you work at the library?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel responded. “And you are one of the tattoo artists here?”

 

Sam laughed again: self-depreciatingly this time. “Me? Oh, naw. I wish I could draw like these two guys. My brother Dean is the artist. He and the guy he apprenticed under, Benny, opened this shop last year – I just help out in the summer and over breaks when I'm home from school.” He pointed to his shirt and continued with a muted pride. “I just got a scholarship to study law at Stanford University, actually.Went there for undergrad and I'll be back in the fall. Just when I get out, they keep pullin' me back in!”

 

Sam's final sentence was delivered in a slight accent, and Becky laughed so Castiel assumed it was some reference he didn't understand. He smiled, a little lost but appreciating that the conversation was generally keeping to things related to academia. He sipped his beer, and was suddenly aware that he was starting to relax.

 

“That's excellent, Sam. Congratulations on your achievements and, I assume, your recent graduation. I've never been to California, but most of the things I've read indicate it's a lovely place.”

 

“Thanks, man. Oh, hey, I didn't even ask! Are you getting a tattoo tonight? I'm meant to be managing the unofficial cue tonight. And being the gopher... speaking of which..” Sam stepped away from the counter and peered into the back of the shop. “Hey, Jerk! You need anything?”

 

“You to shut your piehole, B-”  
“Dean Winchester, if you shout Bitch across this shop I swear to the old gods, you will ONLY succeed if you roll 18 or higher on Any Action in our next campaign, do you hear me?”

 

Castiel recognized the voice of Charlie Bradbury, their resident IT professional and current PHD student in library science. She was bickering with a man who Castiel could only assume was Dean – his deep voice carrying easily around the partition wall.

 

“It's _my shop_ , I can yell what I like!”

“Not when it's _my coworkers_ and _My Leg_ you're working on, _handmaiden_.”

“.... fine. Hey, Benny, need Sammy for anything?”

“I could do with some water, brother,” called a new, heavily accented Creole voice from the other partitioned area. “And could you make sure that the British one doesn't contaminate any of the equipment with that poor girl he's sweet talkin'?”

 

Castiel sighed. So much for Balthazar not ditching him to score with Amanda. Poor girl...

With Sam having walked away to grab his brother a water, Becky must have seen Castiel's face fall, because she perked up suddenly. “Ooh, Castiel's – CHARLIE!,” She called, far louder than the space required. “Castiel's here!!”

 

The gasp of excitement was audible from where he was standing. “What? Castiel?? Get back here!! I Never thought you'd come! Come on back!”

 

Shrugging at Becky, who smiled encouragingly and was immediately assimilated into a burgeoning game of something called Cards Against Humanity by another one of their librarians (Chuck, was it?), Castiel slowly started to make his way back to the room it appeared Charlie and her tattoo artist inhabited. As he approached, he could hear furious whispering and what sounded like Charlie trying not to snort, but it was abruptly cut off as soon as he peaked his head around the open doorway. He gave an awkward little wave, and Charlie beamed at him and waved him in.

 

“Come in! Come in! I promise, Deano only tattoos people who want him to.” She gestured for Castiel to come closer to where she was perched on the table, and gave him an awakward but warm half-hug while trying not to move. Dean didn't look up and continued working intently on a rather detailed pinup-style Princess Leia holding a phaser and leaning against a 20-sided die on the top of her thigh. Charlie pursed her lips and looked down at the back of Dean's head.

 

“Castiel, this is Dean Winchester. He and I have known each other since the 5th grade.”

 

Dean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “pain in my ass since the 5 th  grade,” but immediately followed it with a solid hand on Charlie's knee. “Stop Movin' so much, or you're gonna get a planet instead of dice.”

 

Charlie sighed and looked pointedly at Dean, though the man steadfastedly continued his work. “And Dean, this is Castiel. The one I told you about!”

 

Castiel's heart-rate immediately sped up. The one she told him about? They had been talking about him? What had he done that they talked about? Was it because he was so awkward? He knew his social skills weren't the greatest, but...

 

Dean huffed and looked up at Charlie with a look of exasperation, then put his tattoo gun down and started removing one of his gloves. “Yeah, yeah... Charlie here seems convinced we'll-”

 

Dean spun on his stool to face Castiel and stopped with his hand halfway outstretched, face melting from irritated frown to open surprise in an instant.

 

“...hit it off...”

 

Castiel didn't really notice the other man's sudden change in demeanor, as he was blinking himself out of his own nervous stupor. He swallowed and noticed the ungloved hand hovering in the air between them. He went to shake, but realized belatedly that he was holding his beer in his right hand, and instead grabbed and shook Dean's hand with his left. He tried to smile, but all he could think about was how soft and warm the tattoo artist's hand was in his own, and how green those eyes were, and oh god, he hadn't said anything yet. He cleared his throat.

 

“Hello, Dean,” he said and he could have sworn he felt the hand around his own tighten for a moment at the sound of his voice.

 

Dean smiled, a small, black lip ring in the corner of his mouth contrasting starkly against white teeth. “Hiya, Cas. How's it goin'?”

 

“Uh... well, I suppose. It's... it's nice to meet you.” Castiel straightened up and reluctantly pulled his hand from the other man's grasp.

 

The silence in the room stretched on, both men simply staring at one another. The pause in conversation was comfortable, and Castiel was content to simply take in Dean Winchester, with his short, dirty blonde hair and his green, green eyes, and his freckles and the blue and grey flannel shirt over a Metallica tshirt that was stretched just a little too tight and too short from one too many washes and...

 

“Ehem!”

 

Castiel and Dean both jumped as Charlie loudly cleared her throat, bringing them both crashing back into the present. She giggled and thumped Dean on the shoulder. “Hey,” she chastised lightly, “are you finished with my princess here, or what?”

 

Dean shook himself and looked down at the mostly-completed piece on Charlie's thigh. “Shit, sorry!” He gave her an apologetic look and then bashfully snuck another glance at Castiel before grabbing another blue glove from the box next to him. “Hey, grab a seat, Castiel,” he said, gesturing with his head to the bench seat by the wall before starting to work on Charlie's leg again. The librarian drifted to the seat, which looked like it had been rescued from some old car from the seventies or something, and sat down.

 

“So Charlie says you're a research librarian, huh? What's that like?”

 

Castiel was taken off-guard. Apparently they _had_ been talking about him.

“Uh, yes. I am... A research librarian, that is. It's nice. Quiet. I can spend most of my day looking for requested documents in the archives, if needed. I also do some translation work every once in a while.”

 

Charlie scoffed. “Every once in a while. Castiel, you read, like, six languages! If librarians could be superheros, you'd be an X-man. You always know where everything is, and I think you know the Dewey decimal system by heart. Quiet... quiet and stealthy. Like a ninja!”

 

Castiel tilted his head to the side and crinkled his eyebrows. “As usual, Charlie, I didn't understand most of that. But thank you... I think?”

 

Dean snorted, then smiled warmly at Castiel. “Well, that sounds interesting at least! Lots of new stuff to do every day. Real...” his smile faltered for a moment. “Real smart. You must be pretty on top of stuff to do what you do.”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes and Castiel felt there was a lifetime of history in the look she and Dean exchanged then, but he immediately caught Dean's eye. Castiel shrugged. “I suppose, but it's certainly not for everyone. I like the independence and solitude.” He huffed a breath out through his nose. “I'm a 'piece of work,' as my sister Naomi used to put it,” he stated, air quoting his family's oft-used descriptive term for him. He looked around the room, taking in the prints of classic cars on the walls and some paintings that reminded him of flying. “I mean, I can only imagine how interesting it is to be an artist for a living,” he mused aloud. “The talent it takes to live on what you can produce with your own hands. Not to mention the creativity to initially think up whatever art piece you design in the first place... and the technical ability to transcribe it permanently onto another body. Into their skin – their very being, to stay for eternity. Your art living and being lived in every day. To connect with other people on that level every day must be an amazing experience.

“Did you know there are mummies with tattoos on them? Hundreds and thousands of years after the artist did their work, people are seeing and admiring it. It's fascinating.” Castiel took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly, realizing he'd been ruminating aloud. He was quiet for a moment, then chanced a glance at his two companions. He had hoped that they would have tuned him out at some point, like people generally did, but instead he was greeted by Dean staring openly at him. The tattoo artist was wearing a tiny, bashful smile and he was blushing just a little. Castiel smiled ruefully back and ducked his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I sometimes get a little... verbose. I apologize.”

 

Dean shook his head slowly, and flashed a grin before retreating to Charlie's leg again. He wiped it with a cloth and started smearing some sort of ointment over it. “S' _fine_ , man. You... you be as verbose as you want to be. That was...” He coughed suddenly and straightened up in the chair, looking at Charlie. “Whelp, m'Lady! Your princess is finished! Whaddya think?” Dean rolled his stool away from her with a flourish and grinned up at his friend. She met his grin with one of her own and a mischevious wiggle of her eyebrows.

 

“It's _fiiiiiiine_ , maan,” she told him, a friendly tease in her voice. Then she looked at it in the full-length mirror to Castiel's left and gasped in delight. She did a little hop and clapped her hands. “Dean, seriously, this is gorgeous!” She turned to give him a quick hug. “Excellent work, hand maiden!” She paused, facing Dean with her back to Castiel for a moment, then quickly turned. “Cas! I'm going to show everyone the new tat and try to rescue Amanda. Thank you _so_ much for coming out tonight. Have a great evening! I know you don't really dig crowds, so hang out in here as long as you want. Dean... text me later!” And with a grin and a whirlwind of red hair, Charlie flounced out the open door, closing it quickly behind her.

 

Dean and Castiel sat in silence for a moment, staring at each other for a moment from their respective seats, before Dean laughed quietly and shook his head in disbelief.

 

“You know, I'm surprised she could move so fast with a fresh thigh piece like that. I'll bet it hurt like a bitch.”

 

Dean looked up, they made eye contact for a beat, and both of them suddenly burst into subdued giggles. Castiel was the first to recover.

 

“So,” he asked sarcastically, “you think she might have been trying to set us up?”

 

Dean slowly got up and walked over to plop onto the bench seat next to Castiel. He blew out a breath. “I don't know... did it work?” He asked, a cocky lift of his eyebrow belayed by a falter in his smile.

 

Castiel looked down, pursing his lips and interlacing his fingers nervously. “I'm not good at this,” he mumbled.

 

Dean caught his eye. “Not good at what?” he asked, nerve tinging his tone, even though his smile was warm.

 

“... people,” Castiel responded. “I... like just now. I just say whatever comes into my head. And I don't understand what people are saying sometimes – like that whole superhero analogy Charlie used earlier. And other things. I'm just... I'm no good.” He looked at Dean, so close he could feel the heat of him through the fabric of his clothes, and took a moment to simply enjoy the proximity.

 

Dean's eyebrows knit together for a moment. He took a deep breath, then:

 

“DoYouWannaTattoo?”

 

Castiel did a double take.

 

“What?”

 

Now it was Dean's turn to look at his own nervously mobile hands. “I, uh... do you want a tattoo? What you said earlier... about forming a connection by, by... well. I hadn't really ever thought of it that way, y'know? And I'd like to... well.” Dean forced himself to make eye contact with Castiel. “I know you're not good with crowds, like you said. And. And I'd like to get to know you. Like... a lot. So. Do you want a tattoo? I can... It can be, like... a date?”

 

Dean looked like he was mentally kicking himself, but Castiel was too flabbergasted to say anything for a moment. He really wanted to... a date? A tattoo date? Private and quiet, and Castiel wouldn't have to worry about other people or how he looked or what to talk about because they could talk about the art! Wow!

 

Dean sucked in a breath, taking Castiel's silence for rejection. “It's cool, sorry. I just thought-”

 

“It'll be my first one,” Castiel said quietly, smiling at Dean hopefully. “Could you maybe talk me through the basics, and a design?”

 

The smile Dean beamed back at Castiel, he was sure, could have powered several small cities. “Absolutely!”

 

The artist grabbed a sketchpad and pencil from a drawer in his desk on the other side of the room, and sat down next to Castiel again. This time, the artist leaned against the librarian from shoulder to thigh. “So. Cas.” Dean grinned again, tapping his pencil against the paper in thought. “What are your thoughts?”

 

Castiel looked around at the paintings hanging on the walls again and about his childhood daydreams, holed up in his room to stay away from the chaos of the world, learning different languages, and imagining he could simply fly out of his bedroom and away to the far-off places he was reading about.

 

He studied Dean for a moment, then asked: “How do you feel about wings?”

 

 

 

 


	2. First Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a continuation of CH 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it. I needed to know what happens!! :-)

It was the early hours of the morning which found Dean and Castiel, sitting closer than strictly necessary, still talking and laughing in the now-dark tattoo parlor. Dean's sketch pad had been set aside an hour or two before, some promising designs and ideas written and drawn out before the conversation had flowed easily to other, unrelated topics. Castiel hadn't felt this at ease in a conversation with anyone but his older brother Gabriel in... ever!

 

He laughed lowly at Dean's slightly horrified reaction to his current tale of workplace hijinks.

 

“No.”

 

“In all seriousness! There were probably 35 copies of her thong just sitting in the machine's tray. Charlie taped one to Bathazar's office door every morning for a month.” Castiel swallowed the rest of his beer, now warm, and squinted into the middle distance while Dean laughed. “I do hope Charlie was able to find Amanda before Balthazar managed to talk her into something untoward,” he mused.

 

Dean shrugged and waved a hand dismissively in the direction of the door. “Meh, I'm sure they're fine. They're grownups and stuff. Course, bein' grown don't mean much when it comes to havin' sex on the copy machine.” The blonde man pitched his voice down to nearly a whisper and leaned even closer into Castiel's personal space. “I remember back when I was first apprenticing under Benny and he had just started dating Angela? I walked into the shop one night because I'd forgotten my coat, and they were goin' at it like bunnies! I booked it outta there like a bat outta hell!” Dean laughed lightly at the memory, then added softly, “They're married now. Gonna have a daughter in November. It's pretty great.”

 

Dean trailed off and Castiel sensed a heaviness in the other man's words. The quiet stretched on while Castiel weighed whether he wanted to open this particular can of worms so early in their acquaintance. With a sudden spike of bravery he was unaccustomed to, he opened his mouth.

 

“I hope I find a partner who wants kids,” he said quietly, picking at the label of his empty bottle. Dean looked at him sharply, surprise lifting his eyebrows nearly to his hairline. Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, when I first came out, my family always used kids to try to convince me I wasn't actually gay. 'It's unnatural, Castiel,' they'd say. 'God wouldn't want you not to have a family. He wouldn't do that to you, and you would make such a great father, just find a nice girl...” Castiel laughed a bit ruefully. “Though, with the anxiety and everything, I'm certainly no genetic goldmine. But still...” He smiled a bit sadly at Dean, who was looking at him with wide, open eyes. “I came from a huge, hyper-religious family. But I only really talk to Gabe nowadays, and sometimes my little sister Anna. Gabriel was the one I moved out to Kansas with when I got the job at KU, actually!” He shook himself and perked up a little, shaking off the melancholy of the moment before. “What about your family?”

 

Dean blinked at him, looking slightly confused for a moment, and shook his head like he was clearing cobwebs from his brain. “I, uh, well... there's Sammy – he's my little brother. My mom. And Dad, but he lives in Wisconsin with my half-brother Adam... Wait, Whatddyou mean, you're no genetic goldmine? I mean, _look_ at you!” He gestured disbelievingly at Castiel like a frustrated Vanna White. “And it sounds like _anyone_ who had to deal with the crap you did growing up would have anxiety. I mean, hell! I'd jump at the chance to – uhh. I mean, like, ANY guy would. Um... you know. You seem pretty awesome's all,” Dean lost momentum quickly and finished in a mumble. He looked around the room, desperately avoiding eye contact while a warm, happy feeling blossomed behind Castiel's sternum. Dean's eyes finally fell on the small clock sitting on his desk.

“Holy Crap! Is that really the time?”

 

Castiel took his cell phone out of his pocket and checked. It was, indeed, nearing four in the morning. He gaped – he was supposed to be at the library at eight-thirty! They had been holed up in Dean's studio talking for nearly seven hours. “Oh dear,” he stated lowly to himself.

 

Dean stood up quickly and started fluttering around the room like he was attempting to gather his things, but had suddenly forgotten how his fingers worked.

 

“Oh man, I'm so sorry,” he said to Castiel. “You've probably got to work tomorrow morning and here I am, god, keeping you out all night, talking your ear off. And we didn't even start your tattoo! Here.” He grabbed the sketch pad quickly and studied it critically. “I'll take another look at these designs in the morning and come up with something then. What do you say!” He faltered for a moment. “That is, I mean. If you still... want...”

 

Castiel stood up and put a calming hand on Dean's bicep. “I definitely still want,” he responded. He couldn't help but notice the solidity of the arm he was currently grasping, and Dean didn't seem too eager to move away either.

 

“Yeah. Okay... great.” Dean had become less than articulate, but that couldn't be helped considering how closely he was studying Castiel's face.

 

Castiel stared back softly, enjoying the view. He nodded minutely. “Great. I'll see you tomorrow, then.” Despite their conversation ending, they both stayed rooted to the spot and staring at one another.

 

Seconds crept by.

 

Dean's eyes flitted down to Castiel's lips, and he began to lean in slowly – like a magnet had suddenly started effecting his center of gravity.

 

**BA-CHING!!**

 

The Super Mario-Brothers Coin-collecting sound rang out loudly in the still air, and Dean straightened up suddenly with a quick, deep breath. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. “I sweartogod, Charlie...” he muttered, shoving the thing roughly back into his back pocket. He took a step back away from Castiel and swiped his hand down his face. “Sorry about that. It's -”

 

“Charlie. Yes, I gathered.” Castiel gave a tight smile. “I suppose I'd better be going. Work in a few hours, and whatnot.” He started towards the door as Dean gathered his things (for real, this time).

 

“Wait, hey, Cas?” he called after Castiel, just before the librarian had made it to the front door. He paused, and Dean hustled to catch up and stand next to him.

 

“I... This was awesome. I'm really, _really_ glad you finally came out. The way Charlie talked about you... she kept telling me I should come to the library so she could introduce me and I, well.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly don't know if I'd have ever gotten up the guts to go. So... thanks. Really. I...” He blushed, and Castiel had to make his hands into fists at his side to keep them from running up the other man's arms and ruffling up his hair. “I'm really glad I met you. I can't wait to see you again,” Dean mumbled, just loud enough for Castiel to hear in the dark shop.

He smiled brightly. “And I am grateful to have met you, Dean Winchester. I look forward to seeing you again as soon as possible,” Castiel confirmed. He figured he could be candid, if Dean had decided to be as open as he was being.

 

Dean looked up and grinned at Castiel. “Good! Good, that's... that's good.” He nodded (as much to himself, it seemed, as to Castiel). “See you tomorrow, then. Drive safely and all that. I'll, uh... see you tomorrow night.”

 

Castiel opened the door to the shop. Then, before he lost his nerve, he darted forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Dean's face. He had been aiming for Dean's cheek, but ended up kissing closer to the bolt of his jaw, scruff rasping slightly against the other man's face as he pulled away.

 

“Goodnight, Dean,” he chuckled, while the artist looked after him with a shell-shocked expression on his face.

 

“'Night, Cas,” he responded absently, hand floating up to rub against where he'd been kissed.

 

Castiel closed the door behind himself and headed towards his car. The late summer sun was just starting to paint everything in dusky, washed out grays, but the librarian couldn't care less. A bounce in his step completely uncharacteristic for this early in the morning, he decided to swing by his apartment, get ready for work, then grab Charlie a pastry and himself some coffee from Gabe's bakery near campus. He hoped to circumvent any teasing from his big brother, but he had to share his good mood with _someone_. And, Castiel thought as he got into his car, getting Charlie a pastry was the least he could do to say thank you.

 

 

 


	3. First Kiss (well, according to Dean...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean are both bundles of nerves who don't understand how awesome they are. 
> 
> But, as a wise man once said - the best relationships are when each person thinks they got the better deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've changed the rating to T (mostly for language). We'll see if it sticks. 
> 
> I was so ready to be done with these nerds, but they're just so frickin' ridiculous, I have to keep going and see what happens. :-)

Dean peered down the gray-dawn street through the front window of his tattoo studio, watching as Castiel's pale trench-coat got smaller and disappeared into his car. (A pimptastic old American model, by the look of it. Bonus – he didn't drive one of those cheap plastic matchbox cars they made nowadays). He watched the car drive away until it turned down a street and out of sight, then stepped away from the window, ran his hands through his hair, and took a deep breath. He fumbled before whipping his phone out of his back pocket and dialing Charlie. He pressed the phone between his shoulder and his ear as it rang, exiting the shop into a warm, Kansas summer morning and locking the door behind him. He was sure the call was going to voicemail when, suddenly:

 

“Dude,  what are you doing up this early?? Shit, I didn't wake you up with my text, did I?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing, texting a guy at four in the morning with lewd questions about your coworkers! Jeez!!” Dean smiled, and his tone softened a little. “No, M'Lady, you didn't wake me up. I... I haven't been to sleep yet.”

 

Charlie groaned on the end of the line. “Deeeeean, I was kidding about the length/width thing… Oh, tell me you didn't! Castiel's a really nice guy, but he's really shy, and I don't wanna have to deal with another of your pump-and-dumps. I thought you two would really get along!”

 

“Hey! First of all – Ew. Don't call them that. They're one-night-stands or short-lived-relationships, thankyouverymuch. And secondly - I'm not  that  bad!”

 

Charlie scoffed loudly through the phone, and Dean made a face he was sure would shut her up if she could only see it. She did have a point, though. He sighed.

 

“Okay, well, I might not have the best track record, fine. But I've been better lately! Besides, it's not what you think. I'm just now leaving the shop. Nothing happened.” Dean's cheeks reddened slightly as he thought about Castiel's kiss goodnight. “Okay, so maybe not  nothing,  but...”

 

“Deeean...” Charlie rumbled warningly. “Tell me why you're calling me at 4:30 in the morning right now, or I'm going into work tomorrow and telling Castiel your entire sexual history.”

 

“NO! No! That's.. I should,” Dean huffed. He'd wanted to talk to Charlie about this, but he was so crap with articulating emotions! Especially over the phone. At least in  person his oldest friend could rely on the shorthand that was his stupid face, which seemed to be terrible at hiding anything he was feeling – whether or not he wanted to talk about it. He reached his car - a shiny, black, vintage Impala - and dug his keys out of his pocket for something to do with his hands. “Listen, I wanted to say thanks for the push. I like him, okay? Like...  really  like him. He’s… It’s weird.” Dean smiled, and couldn't have kept it out of his tone if he'd tried. “We just talked. All night. About everything. He’s hilarious, but so frickin’ deadpan - do you know he’s never seen Star Wars? Or even read a comic book! He’s still a nerdy dude, though… I dunno. He only left the studio a couple minutes before I did.” Dean threw his hands up in the air, gesturing at no one. “I didn't even make a move! Not that I didn’t want... I just...”

 

“Awww,” Charlie cooed. “Little Deano's finally cultivating some emotional maturity! ”

 

“Shaddaaaap,” he responded good humoredly, and plopped down into his driver’s seat. “Listen, get up. I'm swinging by your place and crashing on the couch for a couple hours. My first appointment's at ten, and your place is closer. I'll bring breakfast sandwiches. Cas is coming back by the studio tonight for a tattoo and I need you to tell me I can do this.” He huffed out a breath and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, phone pressed against his ear. The leather of the seats and smell of the old car was grounding, and brought him back to earth. Unfortunately, Earth was where Dean Winchester had never had a relationship that lasted longer than two weeks without imploding horrifically, and had only just completely accepted the idea that he maybe liked guys just as much as he enjoyed the ladies, and felt more nervous than he had since grade school whenever he was even  thought about Cas.  

 

Cas, with is blue, blue eyes and scrunchy smile and crazy hair. Castiel, who wanted kids, and had been out since he was eighteen, and spoke like a million languages, and had probably forgotten more about literature than Dean would ever learn. Cas, who was coming to the studio  tonight for a his first tattoo, and what if he hated it or realized he could do so much better, or Dean screwed it up or he just didn’t show or...

 

Charlie let out a small, knowing laugh, and responded softly. “Ooohh, I know that silence. Come on over. I'll see you soon, we'll deal with the freakout when you get here. And I want bacon on my sandwich.”

 

Dean let out a sound that was meant to be a laugh, but ended up sounding more like a self-depreciating honk. “Okay, see you soon.”

 

“Bye!!”

 

“Bye.” 

 

Dean took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes before starting the car and heading to the breakfast-biscuit place he and Charlie usually frequented when she stayed up all night working on her thesis. His eyes were dry and he realized he’d had his contacts in for almost a full day. God, he needed to find an affordable place closer to town. Living in the sticks was fun sometimes, but the 40 minute commute to work was starting to become more of a pain in the ass than it was worth.

 

*******************************************

 

Cas was holed up in his tiny, basement office when Balthazar knocked lightly on the door and poked his head in. 

 

“A lovely and beautiful morning, Cassie. Oof, though perhaps not so much for you… here.” He carefully placed a large cup of coffee in a to go cup from the campus cafe on Castiel’s desk and assessed the dark-haired man critically. “Charlie suggested you could use some caffine, and I could utilize it as my peace offering for abandonning you at the soire last night. Looks like she was right - what on earth happened to you? You look like something an angry cat dragged in.”

 

Castiel ran his hand through his hair, trying in vain to pat it down, and straightened his posture and his tie, grumbling. “I’m not that bad, Bal, don’t be dramatic.” He rubbed his eyes and nabbed the coffee, its siren song irresistible to his heavy eyelids. “I just stayed a little later at the tattoo parlor than most of the others, then didn’t really get much sleep afterwards.” He buried his face in the coffee, hoping the slightly red tinge of his ears didn’t give away how much he was stretching the truth. 

 

Balthazar perked up like a cat. “Stayed a little later, aaaaaaye? Did dreary old Cassie finally get some ink? Let me see!” 

 

Castiel sighed and decided, in for a penny…

“I haven’t gotten it yet. I’m going back this evening. We only worked on the design last night. We, uh… started talking about it rather late.”

 

Balthazar squinted skeptically at Castiel, while the latter took another sip of his coffee and began to intently stare on the translation he had been reviewing. The silence stretched on with Balthazar simply leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed, staring critically at the seated librarian. Finally, after nearly a minute had passed without the taller man moving, Castiel sighed in exasperation. 

 

“What?!”

 

Balthazar shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Nothing!” He smiled. “So is Dean doing the tattoo? Dean, right, the hot one with the lip ring?”

 

“Yes? What about it?”

 

“So you  are  capable of finding people attractive. Excellent!,” he teased. “You stayed after talking about a custom design?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“For hours?”

 

“Well…”

 

“UhHuh.” Balthazar snagged the chair on the other side of Castiel’s desk and made himself comfortable. “So, is this a one-sided affliction, or is he somewhere closer to Freddy Mercury than Hulk Hogan?”

 

Castiel stared at the brit blankly. “I have no idea what any of that means.”

 

Balthazar gave a good humored, long-suffering sigh. “Is this a Hermia and Lysander situation or a Demetrius and Helena debacle?”   
  


“Beginning of the play, or…”

 

“Yes, Cassie, of course the beginning.”

 

Castiel smiled a little. “Only if I can be Lysander. I’d look terrible in a dress.”

 

“Lovely!! Our resident confirmed bachelor, finally playing the field!!” Balthazar lit up in a laugh that shook his whole body. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see that Winchester in a dress on stage!” He hunched his shoulders in an attempt to make himself wider and added a rough gravel to his voice in a bad facsimile of Dean’s low tone. “Take comfort, Helena. Lysander and I will fly this place.” He laughed, amused beyond all reason at the mental image of the tattoo artist performing in mental production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.. Castiel shook his head… this was what a doctorate in Shakespearean Lit got you. He sniffed.

 

“Personally, I think Dean dressed as a female would be quite fetching. You do remember  all  female roles were played by men when that play was written?”

 

Balthazar waved his hand dismissively. “Of course, of course. I don’t mean to tease. The oddity of it! With all those tattoos! Hah!” He settled down and waggled his eyebrows in Castiel’s direction. “Fetching, you say?”

 

Castiel pressed his eyes shut and hid his head in his hands. “Ugh! Balthazar, what am I doing? I’m terrible with  you  and you’ve known me for nearly a decade. I have nothing to offer someone like that. He’s creative, and fascinating, and… what’s it you say? Out of my league!”

 

Balthazar stood up and headed out the open door. “Oh, nonsense, Castiel. If anything, you’re the catch - this sleep deprivation is obviously causing hallucinations. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“But-”

 

“Sleep, Cassie. You’ll need your endurance for this evening.” He winked. “I mean, tattoos are tough to sit through.” He leered obviously at the blushing librarian, and left. Castiel sighed in resignation, checked the time, and realized he could get in a solid five hours - plus a shower - if he left now. He grabbed his messenger bag and coat, and headed for the door.

  
  


*********************************************

 

Dean had breezed through his three clients of the day - he was in the zone. Even wearing his glasses (which were black-rimmed things Sam called “hipster” and Dean had called “the cheapest frames they had”) instead of his usual contact lenses hadn’t impeded his flow.

 

When Benny poked his head in mid-afternoon, he had just finished a traditional japanese lotus on some twenty-something girl’s back. She was fit and kept trying to talk to him about her yoga classes, and eight months ago the tattoo session would have ended with her number in his phone, but New Dean was turning over a whole new leaf. New Dean was focused on getting his expected work finished so he could finish the design for Castiel he had sitting in the back room. New Dean was definitely, certainly, absolutely  not concentrating as hard as he could on his work to avoid freaking out over his impending date with a blue-eyed, adorable, slightly-awkward nerd. A  male nerd. A male nerd he wanted to do things to. And with. And for? Oh man...

 

“Hey, brother,” Benny called from the door. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all day. Busy today? Or are y’workin’ on something big?” He leaned against the door as Dean finished cleaning up his work station.

 

Benny was an imposing guy with a bushy beard, bald head, and tattoos from head to toe. Most of his tattoos were traditional American, with plenty of voodoo and shamanistic imagery thrown in. His face was friendly as always as he stood in the doorway; it was free of artwork except for a brightly-colored snake that crept up from his neck onto the side of his head. He looked dangerous if you didn’t know him, but he was really just a gentle teddybear most of the time. He and Dean had worked together swimmingly since opening the shop almost a year ago, and Benny still encouraged his young former-apprentice to branch out when his interest wandered. Though neither of them addressed it aloud, Benny was happy to focus on his own style and genuinely recommended Dean for most of the more complicated work that walked into their studio.

 

Dean smiled at his teacher and friend, finishing his station cleanup and gesturing to their back room. “Yeah! I’m doing a back piece for a - a friend. He’s coming by tonight. You wanna take a look?”

 

Benny half-smiled and quirked an eyebrow. “A friend, huh? Not Charlie, I gather?”

 

Dean sighed and headed towards their tracing room. “I have more than one friend, Benny.”

 

“Sure you do - me. And Sam.” He knocked the younger man on the shoulder. “So where’d you meet this ‘friend’ and what are y’puttin’ on their back?” 

 

Dean’s cheeks tinted a light pink and he grabbed the paper he’d been drawing on, handing it to Benny. The older man spread the sheet over their drawing table and studied it while Dean rocked back and forth on his heels, biting at his lip ring nervously.

 

“Calm down, young’un. I’m not your boss anymore - I’m just one artist checkin’ out another’s work.” Benny smiled fondly at Dean, though his eyes never left the paper. “This is good stuff, here. No outlines?”

 

Dean cleared his throat and leaned in. “Yeah! I thought, well… he wanted to evoke the feeling of flying, but it’s also an art piece, y’know? So I thought I’d go for more of a watercolor feel… like my paintings. I know it’s a little more difficult, but I really think it’ll work. And he’ll like it. I hope.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “No, he will. I know he will, it was just like what we were talking about last night.”

 

“OOOOhhhh, last night, eh? That boy you locked yourself in here with instead of playing cards with us, right? No wonder you’re all a-flutter. Y’must really like this one, ta have him here till the wee hours and back again today.” He clapped the slightly gaping younger man on the back. “Good job. An academic’ll be good for ya.”

 

Dean was blushing so hard, his freckles had started to stand out against his nose.  He took off his glasses and cleaned then on the hem of his ACDC shirt for something to do.  “How… how’d you know we were here late?” 

 

Benny laughed. “I opened this morning, remember? Checked the security system - said the last out was after four in the morning! I figured you’d fallen asleep on the waiting room couch again.”

 

Dean sighed and shook his head. He gestured to the drawing, desperate to change the subject from Cas and their Dean-wasn’t-sure-what. “So? What do you think? Questions? Comments? Concerns?”

 

Benny looked at the drawing, then back at Dean seriously. He rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder and looked his straight at him until the shorter man met his eye. “Brother, this is gonna be a gorgeous piece. Make sure you pack the blues in so they’re bright just like they’re drawn in here, and it’ll be a helluva thing.” He nodded in finality, then clapped Dean hard on the back as he walked out to the front desk. “You make sure to take photos for your portfolio of that, d’ya’hear? You always forget, and this one needs to be documented. Helluva piece!”

 

Dean was left in the back room, smiling to himself as his teacher’s confidence in his work bolstered his own. “Awesome! Okay! Just… as long as he likes it, we’re good! Awesome. Okay… great. Just…” He checked the clock on the wall. “Three more hours.” A thrill of excited anticipation spiked unexpectedly through his stomach at the thought of seeing Cas again so soon, and his smile bloomed into a bright grin in the privacy of the tracing room. 

  
  
  


*********************************************

  
  
  


Castiel pulled up in front of Heavenly Ink about 15 minutes earlier than he and Dean had discussed. He sat in the front seat of his car and tried desperately to make his hair pick a direction. Running his hands through it one last time and conceded that, the more he tried to fix it, the worse it got. He sighed and realized he had nothing left to do to stall. Not willing to simply sit in his car and wait for ten minutes, he gathered up the paper bag he’d picked up on the way home from work, exited the vehicle, and headed towards the tattoo parlor.

 

Gabe had been surprised to see Castiel - generally the grumpiest morning person in the county - awake and eager to talk to him when he arrived at The Lokikery Cafe at 5 in the morning that day. His older brother had made him coffee and furnished him with a dozen cake pops “for breakfast and this Charlie-girl” while Castiel had gone over the details of his evening with the fine-toothed comb of the socially anxious. In retrospect, Gabe had handled it well, with minimal teasing and sexual innuendo (for Gabriel standards). Despite appearing to take absolutely none of Castiel’s concern seriously regarding his impending first-date-in-months: except it wasn’t a date, what was it Gabriel, why was he feeling like this about a relative stranger, what was wrong with him - his brother had been encouraging and made him promise to stop by on his lunch break. Stopping by on his way home after Balthazar had let him off, Castiel had been presented with a strawberry-rhubarb pie and some danishes “for dinner, since you can’t just go out to a restaurant on a first date like the rest of us boring people” Castiel was sometimes truly grateful God had given him family in Gabriel, at least. 

 

The front door of Heavenly Ink opened easily, with a small chime Castiel hadn’t noticed the night before. He walked carefully up to the front desk, but there didn’t appear to be anyone out front. Suddenly, a familiar voice from the back of the shop called out.

 

“Sorry! Sorry, no more tattoos tonight - I’m all booked…” Dean speed-walked out into the lobby, pulling on the hem of his shirt like he was just putting it on, and his eyes fell on Castiel. “Oh - Hi!” He beamed, then his hand flew to his short hair. “You’re early! I… um. Was just…” He looked Castiel up and down, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I’m glad to see you.”

 

Castiel smiled back and took in the other man. “I’m glad to see you too,” he stated lowly, and oh, was he ever glad. Dean’s hair was standing up in all directions, likely due to the hasty procurement of the forest green henley stretched just a little tight over the artist’s shoulders and chest. He was wearing heavy, dark-framed glasses which made his eyes look just a little bigger than they were naturally, and if Castiel had thought the the green from his shirt was nice, it had nothing on the shade of his eyes in this light. The glasses also highlighted a light dusting of freckles which Castiel hadn’t remembered noticing the night before. The henley was pushed up around Dean’s forearms and sleeves of tattoos that hadn’t been visible under flannel last night wove their way colorfully from his wrists underneath his shirt. Castiel couldn’t help but wonder how far they went. Topped off with dark denim and work boots, Cashad stored the mental image away for later perusal before he could even think twice about it.

 

They stood for several seconds in silence, simply taking each other in, before Dean blinked rapidly and stepped forward. He gestured to the bag in Castiel’s hand. “What’ve you got there?”

 

“Oh. Uh… dinner?” Castiel held it out to Dean. “Though my brother Gabriel gave it to me, so I’m afraid there’s not much in there actually appropriate for a traditional meal. I think there’s some cheese and cherry danishes, apple, maybe? And a strawberry-rhubarb pie which, I know it sounds odd, but-”

 

“Wait, pie? There’s a strawberry-rhubarb pie in here??” Dean snatched the bag and started emptying the contents out onto the counter until he got to the pie box. “Oh my god, Cas, I could kiss you! Pie makes the best dinner! I’ll grab some paper plates from the- Oh! ” He grinned like a kid and then clapped his hands once. “Your tattoo design! Lemme just…” 

 

Dean quickly darted around Castiel to the front door, turning the sign to ‘Closed’ and locking the door, before returned and nodded his head. “This way,” he said, and ran his hand gently along the material of Cas’ thin coat, from elbow to wrist, before hooking his pointer and middle fingers around Castiel’s and tugging him gently in the direction of the back of the shop. 

 

“It’s back here, which is handy because it’s where we keep break-room stuff too. I’m pretty sure we have plates and stuff… I can’t believe I didn’t think of dinner.” Dean glanced at Castiel, who shrugged.

 

“To be honest, I didn’t think of it either. I was telling my brother about this, um… date. And he put it together for me.”

 

Dean ducked his head. “I called Charlie after you left and told her about this, too,” he admitted. Castiel hummed an amused noise.    
  


“I know. She sent Balthazar down to my office with I’m-sorry-I-ditched-you coffee.”

 

“Aww, man, really?” Dean scrunched his nose, embarrassed, but Castiel just squeezed his fingers. 

 

“It’s all right. It was actually a little comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who had run to a friend after our evening together.” His eyebrows knitted together and he stopped in the doorway of the back room. “I’m not mistaken in saying there was quite an unexpectedly profound connection made over the course of last night, am I?”

 

Dean sputtered for a moment, dropping Castiel’s hand to rub at the back of his neck self-consciously. “Well, don’t let’s just jump to the point, huh?” he laughed awkwardly. When Castiel continued looking at him, head tilted and slightly confused, he made a quick decision. “Hey, can I try something?” he asked, suddenly serious. 

 

“Of course, Dean.”

 

“Great. Okay.” 

 

Dean took a deep breath and flashed a disarming smile before abruptly stepping into Castiel’s personal space. He leaned forward slightly, upper teeth and tongue worrying his lip ring, before stealing a quick glance at Castiel’s lips and nodding minutely to himself. His teeth let go of the ring and he met Castiel’s eyes before abruptly closing the distance between them in a hesitant but solid kiss.

 

Despite the lead up, Castiel was still taken slightly off guard, and swayed backwards, catching his arms around Dean’s waist to steady himself. They stumbled a step together, but didn’t break the kiss - instead Dean smiled into it as Castiel made a little questioning noise in his nose. They both huffed a little laugh through their nose, and Castiel leaned into Dean, closing his eyes, pressing them closer, and opening the kiss just enough. Dean’s hand buried itself in the tangled hair at the back of Castiel’s head, and the kiss deepened with both of their lips moving together and the tease of just a hint of Dean’s tongue against his own.

 

They stayed like that for several minutes, kiss slowly winding down until they were simply holding one another, noses brushing. Dean breathed out a soft laugh, and Castiel raised an inquisitive eyebrow.    
  


“What?”

 

“No, Cas - you were not mistaken about the whole profound connection thing. Not if that had anything to do with it. Because, y’know,” he rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “Wow.”

 

Castiel smiled back and rested his cheek on the back of Dean’s bowed head. “Wow, indeed.” He frowned suddenly, and stepped backwards, though not far enough to escape Dean’s grabby-hands. “We still need to find plates,” he said and began to look around the small space. 

 

Dean laughed and pulled him in for a quick, chaste kiss before smiling and turning around. “You’re right,” he exclaimed and grabbed a stack of papers. “Let’s get this date officially started!”


	4. First Tattoo (for Castiel, anyway)

Dean wasn't certain if he was currently in heaven, hell, or some kind of strange purgatory but however he sliced it, he wouldn't change his current situation for the world. Castiel was stretched out in front of him, laid on his stomach and naked to the waist, snagging bites of pie out of the tin every time Dean took a break. (They never did manage to find anything more than some plastic cutlery). Muscles in his back flexed and stretched under skin every time he moved, and Dean had to blink hard to focus on his work. The artist thanked whatever deity was listening that the librarian generally sat still as a stone whenever the needles came close to his skin. Dean couldn't tell if he was thrilled to be so micro-focused on tiny bits of the man or infuriated by his restrictions. More than once he found himself sitting back to assess his work thus far and getting distracted by the way the hair curled on the nape of Castiel's neck, or the dimples in his lower back, or the arch of his shoulder blade and fighting the urge to... do something. He wasn't sure what.

 

Not that he wasn't enjoying himself thoroughly. Dean Winchester hadn't had this much fun with his clothes on since his first time LARPing with a legit crew, not just him and Charlie being idiots in the park. (But, God, that was like... 10th grade?)

 

See, it turned out Cas was freaking amazing.

 

     Sure, Dean already knew they got along. And had maybe tried on all four shirts he had in his car trying to see which one looked best before Cas had arrived. And maybe that first surprising sight of Castiel, backlit against the large front windows, blue eyes wide, giving him that soft smile and looking far more attractive than he had any right to in business-casual khaki slacks and a slightly unbuttoned white dress shirt with that weird tan overcoat draped over his shoulders had unconsciously seared itself into his stupid, sappy memory like he was in a stupid, sappy movie. And yeah, there was that kiss, which had melted his god-damned brain. But what Dean really hadn't banked on was how funny and easy and fricking fascinating the guy turned out to be.

 

     They resumed their conversations from the night before like they'd known each other for years. They shot questions and answers back and forth, sometimes lapsing into silence while Dean worked or Castiel took deep breaths through a particularly painful bit. Cas taught Dean how to swear in Greek and Latin and Dean gave Cas the rundown on why Janeway and Sisco were underrated Starfleet Captains. Dean learned about Cas' evangelical upbringing and his enormous family, his brother Gabriel (he's pretty sure he's had those Lokikery cake pops before), how he had gone to college and almost immediately embraced both his sexuality and his secular-ality. Dean found himself talking about his own family – Sammy, mostly - and how proud he was when his little brother was accepted to Stanford (even though it felt like loosing his right arm when he drove away from the dorm after move-in that first time). He told Cas about his parents' divorce and moving back in with his mom so she could keep the house, and how art had basically kept him sane. He even told Castiel about finally getting over all the hangups he'd accidentally inherited from Dad and coming out to Charlie as bisexual a couple months previous. Cas explained the different types of yoga and Dean explained how oil changes are actually something you can do in your backyard. Everything just _flowed._ It was a little creepy, actually.

 

Dean was so screwed.

 

And he was also nearly done with the tattoo. Dean frowned a little and sat up. He wasn't sure he wanted to be finished.

 

They had lapsed into another comfortable silence for the last few minutes while Dean spot-checked the piece and made final adjustments. When he sat up, Cas took the cue and reached across the divide from the table he was lying on to Dean's side table for the final bit of pie, forgoing the fork and grabbing the piece of crust with his fingers.

 

“Finished?” he asked, curiosity evident on his face. He crunched down on half the remaining pie and offered the rest to Dean. Dean glanced at his gloved hands, then opened his mouth and Cas popped the rest of the piece in with an eye-roll.

 

Dean smiled as he chewed. “Hey, don't give me that rollin-eye thing. You're the one who isn't using a fork,” he chided with his mouth full. Snapping his glove around his wrist to illustrate his point, he adopted a teasing tone. “I'mmm being sterile and crap.”

 

Castiel smiled in acquiescence. “I suppose I'll be grateful when I'm not covered in rhubarb as this heals...” He craned his head over his shoulder in an amusing – if ineffective – attempt to see his own back. Dean laughed and placed a gentle hand on Castiel's arm.

 

“Gross.” He crinkled his nose. “Yeah, we're done. Let me put some Bactine on here, then you can see.”

 

Dean put some of the ointment onto his gloved hand and rubbed it into the piece. Blue and gray feather-like brushstrokes swept from the center of Castiel's upper back, where wings might attach,and up. They became more chaotic and numerous as they went, curling up and out along the curve of his left scapula. Dean found himself marveling at the tanned skin stretched over bones mostly hidden by solid, toned muscle, and his hand slowed down starting to absently wander across Castiel's upper back - away from the tattoo and any excuse as to why he was touching him. Dean felt the other man's muscles relax under his hand and realized what he was doing. He stopped, swirling around in his seat and whipping off his gloves to toss them in the trash.

 

He took a big, deep breath and huffed it out before turning back to Castiel, who was lying patiently on the table. Dean handed him a large mirror and gestured to the standing mirror in the corner.

 

“Okay, man. Check it out!” Dean's enthusiastic tone held only the slightest wobble to belay the snakes twisting around in his stomach in anticipation of Castiel's reaction. God, was he _really_ this tied up in knots about  the guy's reaction? Yes... yes he was. Ugh.

 

Cas grinned excitedly – which definitely did  _not_ make the snakes in Dean's stomach grow wings and flap around like butterflies, thankyouverymuch – and bounced off the table eagerly. He twisted and held up the mirror, looking at the final product for the first time. 

 

There was silence, and then...

 

“Oh, Dean. This is amazing,” Cas whispered, enraptured by the sight in the mirror and moving slightly to see how the piece flowed. “It's perfect.”

 

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and grinned. “Yeah?” he asked with relief, before he could stop himself.

 

“Cas tore his eyes from the mirror and looked at him sincerely. “I will be honoured to wear this art on me forever. I think it very accurately represents both the sentiment behind the imagery and your artistry. It was more than worth the...” he blushed and looked down for the barest of moments, prompting Dean to quirk an eyebrow at him when he looked up. Cas huffed and ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a rueful smile. “Honestly, I can't even say there was much discomfort in the process. Even the more... intense areas were pleasurable to experience.” Cas looked down, blushing furiously but smiling, and Dean barked out a laugh. 

 

“Hah! Ohh Caas!” he teased, smiling and sidling up to the other man, grabbing his belt loops and pulling him close. “Does Mikey likey? Would never have guessed.”

 

Cas scrunched his nose inquisitively but his small smile stayed put. “I'm sorry, I don't...” He shook his head. “I found the sensation clarifying – like meditation. And the adrenaline, as I'm sure you know, that has accumulated is also very stimulating. It's-”

 

Cas checked the time over Dean's shoulder.

 

“nearly one in the morning, I've slept very little, and I still feel as though I should go for a run.”

 

Dean laughed and leaned his  forehead against Castiel's. “Yeah? Well don't. That high's gonna wear off in like 30 minutes, then you'll be halfway  done and dead on your feet.” He sighed and stared a bit longingly at the blue eyed man in front of him. “Actually, you should probably go home once I've  wrapped you up so you can sleep. I know you don't feel it now, but your body's gonna be exhausted  with this much work done all at once.”

 

C as let out a little sigh of his own and nodded. “Yes, you're right. Of course.” 

 

He stepped away and Dean fought the urge to pull him back close. He turned back to his workspace instead and mentally berated himself for being so damn needy. When the hell had he started cuddling his dates before he'd even copped a feel?  He cleared his throat.

 

“I'm gonna put some plastic over it, take it off when you get home and wash the tattoo with warm water and antibacterial soap. You don't have to cover it tonight, but don't sleep on your back unless you wanna dye your bed blue.” He grabbed a sheet of cling wrap while Cas perched on the table.

 

“Sleep on my stomach, huh? Damn... How do you plan on making sure I don't roll over in my sleep? Strap me down?”

 

D ean's eyebrows shot up as Cas appeared to realize what had he had just said and slapped his hand across his mouth, eyes wide. “Oh god, I'm so sorry. That... I... Uh... I mean... That sounded...”

 

Dean giggled. He couldn't help it! Cas was adorable, _obviously_ mortified, and cut such a hilarious picture sitting, tattooed and shirtless, on the table with his hand to his mouth like a damn regency countess. The giggles descended into full on laughter as he tried to respond. “Hell, Cas. If I knew you wanted me to come home with you that badly, I wouldn't'a spent so much time on your back!” he managed through a bright smile, and Castiel smiled back.

 

“Well, far be it from me to rush perfection,” he responded softly, and relaxed again with a deep breath and a soft smile. 

 

“Yeah, obviously,” Dean covered his blush at the compliment with a cocky smirk, then gently laid out the plastic over Castiel's back.

 

Damn, Dean loved getting those  little smiles  outta him. They made him feel like... like he'd done something great or worthy of praise. It twisted an uncomfortable part of him that said he didn't deserve to be looked at like that.  B ut Charlie had been on him for months now to stop being so down on himself. And he was New Dean! New Dean  didn't  have to  feel like he'd never be good enough. New Dean  could let himself have this.

 

Cas hissed a bit at the unexpected contact. Dean winced in sympathy. “Sorry, man. Is it gettin' tender?”

 

“A bit. I fear I may not need your help in keeping off of it tonight after all,” Cas replied, with only mild melodrama evident in his tone.

 

“Aww, poor baby. Sore from his badass new tattoo,” Dean teased back as he secured the covering in place.

 

Without a thought, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the back of Castiel's neck, sitting back up quickly as Cas turned abruptly to look at him. Despite the banter and easy physicality, they hadn't kissed since Dean's experimental lip-attack when Castiel's arrived in the shop. Piercing blue eyes held Dean's uncertain green ones for what felt like minutes before Cas sat up and hooked his practical dress shoe under Dean's wheely-stool, dragging him as close to the table as he could get.

 

Dean felt like he couldn't breathe and was breathing too much at the same time.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I would very much like to kiss you again.” Cas' gaze flicked down to Dean's lips before meeting his eyes again. “Would that be all right with you?”

 

Dean's brain didn't know what to do with how much he was responding to the man in front of him, so he figured he was lucky to get out his small nod and a breathy “Yeah,” which was swallowed by the immediate press of lips against his and a solid but delicate hand sliding up the side of his neck and into his hair.

 

Castiel's mouth was sure and soft, pressing solidly against his until Dean surged forward, leaning nearly off his stool and wrapping his left arm under Cas' own, anchoring himself with a hand splayed and flush against naked lower back. The sensation of warm, uncovered skin against his own ungloved hand gave Dean the most pleasant sense of vertigo he'd ever experienced, and he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss with a small groan. Castiel appeared to very much encourage the action and licked eagerly into Dean's mouth. Dean mimicked the motion and the two of them began a slow, sensual battle for dominance. Cas looped his arms around Dean's neck as they made out. (Because that was what they were doing – Yup! Dean was making out with another dude.And not just any random dude.  _Castiel_. And it was _awesome_.)  Dean nipped at Cas' bottom lip and kissed the side of his mouth, trailing nips and bites along his jaw and under his ear until Cas moved his head and started leaving little, gently sucking kisses on the tendon up Dean's own neck. Eyes closed and thoroughly enjoying himself, Dean sighed, not wanting to speak, but...

 

“Cas...”

 

“Mmmm?” Castiel hummed his response against Dean's skin. Vibrations travelled through Cas' lips and Dean's neck, making both of them shiver.

 

“Cas, I... I really don't wanna stop, I don't... but... uh...” Dean stumbled as he felt Cas' warm breath disappear, and tightened his hold around the other man so he knew it wasn't a rejection. “We should probably both be getting home. You're gonna crash hard and...” he moved a hand to brush through Castiel's hair and the other man leaned into it like a cat, closed eyes fluttering slightly. Dean couldn't fight the smile. “I kinda don't want you to fall asleep driving home.”

 

Cas sighed. “You're correct, of course.” He met Dean's eyes. “I find myself concerned about your rather long ride home, myself.”

 

Dean fought with himself for a moment, then gave in. “Well, I'll text you when I get home if you do...” he said softly, half-hoping Cas didn't hear and blushing to the tips of his ears. God, when did he get so clingy?

 

Of course, Cas heard. He leaned in for a soft, quick kiss. “Sounds like a plan,” he murmured, lips just brushing Dean's.

 

They both sat up and away from each other, Cas wincing slightly as the plastic moved against his back. Both men took deep breaths and centred themselves a bit, stealing glances at one another and smiling, before Dean started cleaning up and Cas picked up his shirt, gingerly beginning to redress. In a companionable silence, they got their things together, turned off the lights, and headed to the door of the shop.

 

Standing in front of the closed tattoo shop, Dean scuffed the toe of his boot and rubbed the back of his neck instead of grabbing Castiel's hand like he wanted to. Cas rolled the Tattoo Care Sheet paper Dean had given him in his hands and faced Dean, suddenly insecure.

 

“So... I'll... I'll text you when I get home?” he asked quietly, like he was waiting for Dean to laugh it off, promise he'll call, walk away forever. Hah, like Dean would even be capable of walking away at this point.

 

Dean smiled, and grabbed Cas' hand after all. “Yeah, and I'll text you back. It's... It's okay.” He said the last part more to give permission to himself than to placate Cas. He was New Dean, after all, and New Dean was allowed to be himself. New Dean didn't want to second-guess himself any more.

 

Cas smiled back. “You know, I thought you'd think it overly... invested if I appeared so concerned for your safety as to request a text when you returned home. I appreciate that you don't think it overly forward.”

 

“Naw, I thought the same thing about you, really. But... y'know... we have a _profound connection_ and all that,” he laughed it off but there was a gravity to his tone Cas seemed to pick up on. 

 

“We do indeed.” Cas stepped into Dean's space, pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then stepped back. “Goodnight, Dean.”

 

More prepared than he had been the night before, Dean squeezed Cas' hand lightly, in an intimate mirror of their first handshake. “Goodnight, Cas. Drive safe.”

 

“Thank you, Dean. You as well.”

 

They drifted away from one another by steps until both men were far enough away to turn and walk steadily to their cars, smiling privately to themselves.

 

*****************

 

Cas sent a quick text when he got home to a new number in his phone.

 

_I've arrived at home safely, and hope you've done the same when you get this. I had an excellent evening. Thank you for everything. -Cas_

 

About thirty minutes later, Dean pulled up to the house, turned off his car, and checked his phone. The received message made a little family of bees take flight in his chest, and he quickly sent his reply.

 

_Im home too. Had an amazing time. Ready to crash, tho. Can't wait 2 see you again._

 

Dean stared at his phone in disbelief. Oh no. Really? Can't wait to see you again!?! Talk about clingy, geez.

 

_I mean, we can get togthr whenever. I'm not, like, creepy-wanna-see-you-all-the-time or nething._

 

_Had a gt8 time is all._

 

Oh god, that wasn't any better. It was possibly worse.

 

_Tired. Ignore me._

 

_Glad u r home safe._

 

Dean sighed and dropped his phone in his lap, banging his forehead lightly on the steering wheel. Ugh, he sounded like a teenage girl!

 

His phone chimed and he looked down. It was Cas.

 

_Dean._

 

_Calm down. I'm supposed to be the one with anxiety. I can't wait to see you either. What are your lunch plans tomorrow? :-)_

 

Dean almost couldn't believe what he was reading. He grinned in the darkness of the Impala and replied quickly.

 

_Im not sure, but I thk I might have a date w/ a hotie w/ a badass new tattoo. You?_

 

Cas replied almost immediately.

 

_What a Coincidence! I have a date with an amazingly talented tattoo artist. That is fascinating :-_ _D_

 


	5. Dean's First Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week and a half and our awkwardbunnies are simultaneously in too deep and totally out of their depth.
> 
> Guess it's time for a big public event!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I got so freaking blocked on this story for EVER and now I'm finally on a roll. YAY!!!

     Lunch on Friday went long and both Dean and Castiel had rushed back to their workplaces after a particularly energetic debate over the merits of James Joyce versus Hunter S Thompson. They parted reluctantly with promises to see one another soon. Life, however, can sometimes be a bit difficult that way.

     Saturdays are always a busy day at the shop, and Sunday – despite being a day Castiel had off completely – was Dean's day to spend time with his brother whenever he was in town. (The tattoo artist also had a standing dinner date with his mother on Sundays which he secretly took pains never to miss). Monday, which Dean could usually skip easily, was filled with a commissioned work by one of his regulars. He and Cas had planned to get together when he was finished – Castiel's “weekend” being Sundays and Mondays it turned out. Unfortunately, when he had finished at 2pm and picked up his phone, he was greeted by a text message explaining that Castiel had been called into work due to an unfortunate combination of impending Summer Session finals and what his co-librarian Hannah was optimistically hoping was _not_ strep throat. Disappointed but understanding, Dean took the opportunity for drinks with Sam and grilled his little brother about this girl Jessica he kept mentioning from back at Stanford. 

     Castiel started Tuesday hopeful that he and Dean could perhaps get together for dinner, but the tattoo artist texted just before the end of the workday about a walk-in Benny was too busy to handle that would probably keep him there till after close. Wednesday went by quickly, and ended all the quicker for the librarian when Gabriel arrived at the library and announced he wanted “the skinny on Tattoo Magoo” over dinner with his brother. Thursday came and went easily, and suddenly it was Friday again. Castiel was greeted Friday morning by Balthazar waiting none-too-stealthily for him in the stacks by his office. As soon as the lanky Brit spied Castiel, he started walking and matched pace.

“Castiel... You remember you have to go tonight. Riiiiight?” His boss looked meaningfully at him and Castiel suddenly remembered.

He let out a long breath. “Ohhhhh....the Beginning Year Employee's Banquet.... craaap,” he whispered.

“YES, Cassie, the BYEB is tonight at 7 and you HAVE to come,” Balthazar lectured peevishly. “You are senior staff and I get in trouble with the damn Dean of Students when you blow it off. The man's a nightmare in yellow plaid. You. Have. To. Come.”

Castiel squinted and wrinkled his brow. “Are you sure? There are so many people there, Bal...”

Balthazar levelled an unsympathetic look at his friend. “No. Cassie, I don't make you do the social-student-mingle-blech-things because I know how little you care for  them . But this is something you are expected to attend as a senior member of the library's staff.  You've done it before and lived. You'll be fine.” The two men stopped outside Castiel's office and paused as Cas unlocked the door. Balthazar put a comforting hand on Castiel's shoulder and spoke, more sympathetic. “ Nobody expects you to be the life of the party, darling.  For god's sake, you're a  _research librarian_ .”

“Thanks,” Cas replied dryly. Balthazar smirked and prepared to walk away.

“Look - I'll be there, and you can bring Charlie if you'd like... And if anybody bothers you, just... tell them to fuck off in latin. That'll confuse them long enough for you to get away.”

C as opened the door to his office and sat down at his desk. Great, he was  _terrible_ in groups. He didn't get along with strangers, Balthazar was not only a speaker as Library Director, but he was notorious for running off and leaving Castiel by himself. Plus Cas had hoped to manage dinner with Dean this evening. 

The idea formed reluctantly: maybe he could solve both issues at once?

 

 

 

 

Upon Dean's realization that it had been a week since he'd seen the reclusive librarian he was kinda-sorta dating (hopefully?), he took it upon himself to ensure face-time by the end of the day. Checking the time as he ate his toast and fixed coffee, he realized Cas had already been at work for an hour already. (So what, he knew the guy's schedule, maybe? Not weird.) He shot off a text instead of calling.

 

_Good morning, Cas! What r u doin tonight? (Say going out w me & I'll b ur bff forever) :-)_

 

Dean got ready for the day while purposefully not looking at his phone, just in case he opened it up to any of the “I've been avoiding you for a reason, can't you take a hint” iterations he was _mostly_ certain Cas would never send. When he did finally check for a response, he couldn't help smiling like an idiot.

 

_Bff forever is redundant. Besides, Charlie's your bff, everyone knows that. I don't think she'd be happy with my usurping her after all these years. Besides,_

_I would hope my position will be rather different than 'bff'_

 

Dean, who had been basically two seconds from asking the nerdy little dude if he wanted to go steady like they were frickin' twelve and not in their thirties at lunch last week, couldn't resist fishing for it a little.

 

_And what position are you jockeying for, exactly?_

 

Dean sipped his coffee at the table and contemplated what turn of events might have compelled his mother to begin decorating the kitchen with increasingly more chickens over the last few years as he waited for a response.

 

_Behind you on all fours, my smitten kitten. I'm too shy to admit that I'm a beast in the sacvdovhhhhhhhhhhhh_

 

Dean about spit out his coffee. His phone dinged again.

 

_Sorty_

 

_Oh Jesus, Dean. I apologize._

 

_That was Balthazar_

 

_I'm so sorry._

 

_Please don't be offended. Oh god, I'm so embarrassed. He kept asking me why I was smiling at my phone and then he took it and I am so sorry_

 

_I'm going to kill him. Slowly._

 

_I can do it, you know. I'm very well-read. Authors of antiquity predominantly wrote about love, gods, and creative ways to die. Just say the word._

 

The messages came one after another and Dean was laughing so hard by the end that he could barely hold the phone steady enough to type.

 

_LOL! S'ok, Cas, I kinda walked into that one. Haha! No need for slow murder. Quick and painless, maybe... :-)_

 

The response was immediate.

 

_Quick I can guarantee._

 

Dean smiled and decided to get back to the matter at hand.

 

_So, about doing something tonight? U free? Wanna do lunch again?_

 

Dean wasn't terribly keen on just getting lunch, but if it was all Castiel could swing with his work schedule...

 

“Well _someone_ is certainly chipper for 9am, what's the occasion?” Mary Winchester was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her oldest son. As soon as she announced her presence, Dean started and his open, delighted smile turned slightly bashful.

“Hey, Mom,” he mumbled into his coffee. He stole a glance at her through his eyelashes and saw her waiting with raised eyebrows. He sighed.

“It's just... a friend.”

“You don't laugh like that at texts from Charlie,” she teased lightly and moved to pour herself a cup of coffee from the already-brewed pot.

“Charlie's not my only friend,” was Dean's slightly petulant response.

“Benny either.”

Dean opened his mouth to sass back, but was stalled by a lack of anything clever to say. He closed his mouth with a “hmph.” He needed to get more friends...

Dean's phone chimed and he couldn't stifle the grin.

 

_We could get lunch. I'd prefer you be my date to the new employees' Banquet tonight, but it may be slightly more awkward now, as I will be have just murdered one of the keynote speakers in defense of your honor._

 

Dean may or may not have pumped his fist in the air as he read Castiel's invitation, which he immediately tried (and failed) to cover by faking a stretch.

 

_Hell yeah, I'll be your arm candy. B drivin in 15. Call me 4 deets?_

 

Mary, coffee in hand, regarded her oldest with a smile. “So? Who's this new friend? Where'd you meet her? How long have you two known each other?”

“Geez, Mom...” Dean could feel himself blushing out to the tips of his ears.

“What? I'm your mother and run an online business. I'm home all day, every day. So sue me, I'm living vicariously through you.” She grinned at Dean over her mug. “Just be glad I'm not pressuring you into beauty pageants or something.”

Dean laughed. “Oh yeah, you'd be a shoe-in for stage-mom of the year.”

“Sing out, Louise!”

“Did you just quote Gypsy at me?” Dean looked at his mother, mock-scandalized.

Mary rolled her eyes. “Did you just call me on a reference from a Broadway musical, Mr.  ' Metallica Rules ' ?”  The air-quotes around “metalica rules” made Dean smirk, then he pointed at her and schooled his face into a serious expression. 

“Hey, Charlie made me watch it,”  he corrected sternly. “Besides, there's hookers at the end. With light-up bras!” He waggled his eyebrows and ducked a dish towel his mother threw at his head.

“I have failed you as a mother,” she sighed melodramatically. “And as a feminist.”

Dean got up and set his mug in the sink. He leaned past his mom, giving her a a half-hug.

“No waaay,” he said, pressing his cheek against the top of her head. “I'd be an alcoholic high school dropout with commitment issues if it wasn't for you.” He rubbed her arm briskly and gave her a squeeze.

“Well...” Mary sighed ruefully, “Two outta three ain't bad.” The older woman leaned into her son's side, sadness tinging her body language.

“Hey,” Dean grabbed her shoulders loosely and ducked his head to meet her eyes. “ _Recovering_ alcoholic, remember? Got my chip and everything.” He gave her a cocky smirk and Mary pursed her lips, unamused. “Plus, New Dean doesn't have commitment issues. _New Dean_ actually _dates!”_ He patted his mom on the shoulder and moved to nab his bag as he checked the time.

“I just wish things with Adam and your father had turned out differently,” Mary sighed, raking her hand through her whiteblonde hair. “That you didn't feel like you had to-”

“What have we talked about, Mom? I don't feel obligated to anything,” Dean interrupted. He glanced at his phone. “Speaking of obligations, I may crash at Charlie's tonight. I think I've got a late night...”

His mom couldn't help but smile. “Charlie's, huh?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Tell me something: does this New Dean introduce his mother to his dates? Because I'd love to actually meet someone you're seeing. You haven't brought anyone home since-”

Dean winced and waved her off. “I know, I know, and... maybe. If it gets... y'know.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and wrestled with coming clean with his mom for a moment. He blew out a breath. “I'll keep you posted, maybe bring 'em by for dinner in a couple weeks? If it's still a thing?”

 

(Gender-neutral pronouns it was. Dean sighed internally. Apparently New Dean still didn't have the balls to tell his mom he was ass-over-teakettle for a dude.

Great.

A couple weeks, indeed. Let's see how long Cas wanted to stick around with his closeted ass...)

 

Mary missed the flicker of self-loathing that burned through her son as she sipped her coffee and became engrossed in BBC News on her phone. “That'd be great, dear. Now go! What kind of precedent does it set if the boss is late, huh?” She gave Dean a genuine smile.

Dean gave her a tight one back. “True. Bye, Mom!”

“Drive safe, sweetie!”

 

     Dean was almost out the door when he made a sudden, abrupt detour to his room and grabbed a smart-looking button-down shirt and a black blazer. He stole a look at himself in the mirror on the back of his door. Eh... his black jeans and work boots should work. Who was gonna be looking at his feet anyway? He hoped this banquet wasn't a suit-and-tie type deal.

 

 

 

The phone in his pocket rang right on cue as he started up his Baby and pulled out of the driveway. He put Cas on speaker and couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.

 

“Hey-ya, Cas! Morinin'!”

“Hello, Dean. I apologize again for Balthazar – he can be... Well, he may be my oldest friend, but sometimes I honestly can't remember why we became friends in the first place.”

Dean snorted. “You're fine, it's fine. It was hilarious. Hell, it's probably something I'd do to Sammy, so...” he shrugged, even though he was alone in the car. There was a slightly awkward pause, then Cas cleared this throat audibly over the line.

“So, uh, the Beginning Year Employee's banquet. Were you still willing to accompany me? That is...”

“Sure, Cas! It's not, like, a monkey-suit type deal, is it?”

Cas snorted. “The idea of a banquet of people dressed as monkeys is absurd, Dean. But thank you for that mental image. It's incredibly amusing.”

Dean laughed but didn't bother correcting him. “Well, I'm here all week... So about this dinner thing?”

“Oh. Yes. It begins at seven, though if you're able to come by the library at 6:45 or so, we could simply walk. It's not far – on the top floor of the Union. It's the annual banquet for new staff members to meet senior staff.”

“Cool, I should be able to swing that. I don't have anything solid booked for any time after 5 tonight, so that's good. What's, ah... what's the dress code?” Dean almost never felt out of place, but he worried at his lip ring as he drove, hoping he wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb amongst all Cas' academia peers.

“Oh, business casual, I assume. That's how it usually is. I'll wear what I wore to work. You're working today - whatever you're in now should certainly be acceptable.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, Cas, but you always look great at work. I wear tshirts and jeans and shit.”

“You could wear a a tank top with capris and I'd still be proud to have you in my company,” Cas replied evenly and Dean couldn't keep his face from flaring hot, ears burning while butterflies erupted in his stomach. A small part of him delighted in the praise, and New Dean fought hard with Old Dean to accept the casually stated compliment.

“Cas, man, ya'can't just... I mean... I'm not-” he sputtered, them blew out the rest of his breath and inhaled through his nose. “Thanks, man.” How did this weird dude make him feel like Snow frickin' White? “You're in luck, though! I grabbed a blazer and a nice shirt so I'll blend in.”

Cas laughed softly. “I certainly hope you don't blend too well, Dean. I dislike most of the people who will be in attendance.”

“Aww, am I your safety blanket?”

“... In a manner of speaking. You are familiar with my... trouble. With crowds.”

Dean was suddenly more serious. “Babe, hey. If you wanna bail, we bail. We don't even have to go if you don't-”

“I'm rather obligated to attend, unfortunately,” Cas reluctantly admitted. “I'd much rather... how'd you put it the other night? Netflix and chill?”

Dean smiled. “Well, even so. You say the word and we'll be vegging to Orange is the New Black with popcorn. Whatever you want.” He winced around the next words: “I'm honestly happy doing whatever as long as it's with you.” He held his breath. God, Sammy would have a field day with this.

It was totally worth it when he heard the smile in Castiel's voice as he replied. “Thank you. I can't say how much I appreciate your patience. I enjoy being with you, too, Dean. I... I very much enjoy our time together, and am happy to hear you feel the same.” He said it with a sort of finality, like it took some doing to get out of his mouth. Dean sympathized hardcore, and it made something in his chest ease knowing they were both in this together.

 

“Well, I'd be a hell of a boyfriend if I didn't, huh?” Dean froze. As Charlie would say: Cue freakout.

If he'd been able to grab the words out of the air before they hit the phone, he would have crashed Baby trying to get to them. Oh god, they had just come out! Things were so easy and they talked all day every day over text and the phone but they'd only, like, made out twice and shit! Shit shit shit! He'd avoided a slip literally every other conversation they had had! Cas wouldn't want to be his boyfriend, he was just this baby-bi guy who didn't know what he was doing and was being weird and clingy and now he'd made this banquet thing weird and-

 

Cas laughed. That single, surprised, delighted chuckle broke all the tension in Dean's body and he went from panic to delight so fast he was surprised he didn't swerve the car.

 

A gravelly voice responded, still laughing. “You're right, that'd be a terrible thing for you to do. Hopefully that won't be the case with your next relationship.” The end of the word relationship went up minutely...

 

God bless that beautiful bastard, he was actually giving Dean an out. It made him all the more certain he didn't want to take it.

 

“Well, you'll be the first to know,” Dean blazed on with confidence born of adrenaline and faith. “Though I can't imagine not enjoying you for the next century or so... you could just tell me the same information in every language you know and we're good till, like, 2100 or something.”

“Ah. Well, that's good to hear.”

 

There was a pause in the conversation and Dean continued to drive, then-

 

“Dean, did we just agree to see each other exclusively? I'm very bad at this.”

 

It was Dean's turn to laugh. “Yes, Cas,” he groaned good-naturedly. “II'm not interested in seeing anyone else while we've got this whole... thing” he gestured between himself and the phone even though nobody could see. He slumped against the seat as he pulled up to a red light.

“Good. I'm pleased I don't have to awkwardly deflect questions about our status this evening. I was sure I would mis-speak at least once and make things awkward for you...”

“Well, I'm glad this makes things so convenient for you,” responded Dean sarcastically.

“Believe me, Dean,” Cas' voice dropped, “Písteva pos aftó ítan adýnato. I'm... incredibly...” He cleared his throat. “Dean, are you sure you're okay with not seeing anyone else? I mean, we haven't... uh... what I mean to say... Well.”

“Dude, what was that? Greek? And are you seriously giving me an out just because we haven't fallen into bed yet?”

“Uh...yes?”

“Yes, Greek or Yes, giving me an out?”

“...Both?”

 

Dean scoffed and mumbled to himself, “You know you might actually be perfect?” Then, louder, “Jeez, yeah, no, Cas, we'll be fine. I'm actually pretty proud of myself, that was a total guess!” He laughed awkwardly, then added, “And as far as the whole dude-on-dude thing goes,well...” he shifted uncomfortably. “I feel like I should be asking you if you're okay getting frisky with a frickin' newbie, like, when we do get around to, y'know-”

“Don't worry, Dean, I'm sure you'll figure it out. When you're ready, we'll discuss it. You didn't seem to have any trouble in our previous-”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Let's not dwell on this bit, huh? It's a little weird.”

“I apologize.”

“Hey, no worries. I'm just bein' a girl about it,” Dean shrugged at nobody again.

“I hardly think being self-aware sexually is a derisive female trait, Dean.”

That startled a small “hah!” out of Dean as he pulled around a corner. “Yeah, I guess you're right... Hey, so I'm getting' close to work. See you at 6:45?”

Dean couldn't see it, but Castiel nodded with barely-concealed excitement in the emptiness of his office. “Yes, I'll meet you at the front desk and we will go from there.”

“Perfect.”

“Excellent.”

“I'll see you then.”

“Excellent.”

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Tell my boyfriend to have a good day at work.”

Cas smiled even wider at Dean's soft tone. “I promise nothing,” he teased softly. “A' bientôt, until this evening.” 

“Lookin' forward to it, Babe,” Dean replied, quietly letting Castiel's penchant for throwing in random languages tug pleasantly on his skull and willfully ignoring the question of how long he's been thoughtlessly endowing Castiel with terms of endearment.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

 

      Dean parked his car, taking a minute to breathe deeply and sort out the  cacophony of feelings currently hurtling themselves around in his body.  He felt a little like he was about to vibrate out of his skin and a little bi t like he all his muscles had locked up.  Christ , emotions were  exhausting ! He hadn't been this wrung out by a  conversation since, well...  nope, not even going to think of  any of that , he was New Dean and th at whole period was the Dark Ages .  Plus t he circumstances were totally different! He was in better headspace, he was being true to himself and all that, he wasn't dealing with the shitshow that was his parents' divorce, and he knew – he  _knew_ – that Cas wasn't in this to get one over on him. He wasn't sure how, but  he had a feeling down in his bones that this was what an honest-to-god, altruistic, equal-partners/equal-partnership  type relationship felt like. (God, he hoped this was what Sam felt with this girl Jessica, because this was the best).  Sure, he was currently an internal fireworks show, but he'd never felt this elation along with the other “ relationshippy” feelings he had going on. This was different –  _Cas_ was different. Dean couldn't for the life of him parse out how he'd gotten someone so, So,  _SO_ out of his league to agree to be in an honest-to-god relationship with  _him_ of all people, but he was sure as shit gonna try not to screw this up.

 

 

Castiel sat at his desk and hung up his phone, dropping it on the desk and propping his head on his hands, staring at his desk. What did he just do?? Anxiety ripped through him  as he second-guessed everything from his phone call with Dean and  attempted to breathe. 

In-two-three-four-five, Out-two-three-four-five.

S eriously? Boyfriend? After, what, a week? Week and a half? Sure, it doesn't mean much to be dating exclusively, but now he'll be introducing this beautiful, friendly, funny, intelligent beam of light to his co-workers as his significant other. Which means that they'll know what Cas has lost when Dean inevitably doesn't show for the next event he's supposed to bring someone to. It's nearly worse than never officially dating at all.

Out-two-three-four-five

Nonsense, Castiel would be proud to have Dean accompany him as a simple friend. Introducing the man as his boyfriend, as silly as the term sounded in his own head, seemed almost like he was taking credit for something  completely beyond his control. Here, look at this miracle of the universe I have somehow managed to convince to stay  with me for a time.

In-two-three-four-five

What did he have to offer someone like Dean? He's not creative, not up on pop culture or the latest geek... thing. He's an academic! A bookworm. Useless except to find and filter and file the genius of others. He'll bore the exuberant artist in a matter of days.

In-two-three-four-five

No, think rationally. All signs point to Dean taking this just as weirdly seriously as you are. Even if you're being crazy, at least you're being crazy together, right?

Out-two-three-four-five

It's just a banquet. Just a label. You're the first male he's been able to date, maybe it's an infatuation that will wear off. He's easy enough to read. Just break it off when it becomes obvious he's no longer interested.

In-two-three-four-five

And yet there remained the steadfast, stubborn feeling in the pit of Castiel's stomach that the reason he was currently skirting the razor's edge of a panic attack – the _real_ reason – was because this was IT. This was the kind of thing he had read about in stories and myths and folklore. The kind of epic, soul-deep _thing_ at the heart of storied he had translated from Greek and Latin and French for years.

And Dean liked him too.

Out-two-three-four-five

He must be romanticizing things. He was  _definitely_ romanticizing things. It's just, things were so easy between them. They fell into step, had integrated into one another's lives so completely and so simply. It was like no other interactions Castiel had ever experienced.

In-two-three-four-five

Either way, this was different –  _Dean_ was different. And he swore to whatever gods were listening that he was going to try not to screw this up.

Out-two-three-four-five

 

It was suddenly much easier to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Kudos, and (most importantly) Questions/Constructive Crit = Love!!
> 
> You are amazing sunflowers of happiness, every one of you. Muah! Thank you for reading.


	6. Dean and the Shindig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has to go to the library to pick up Cas, which is fine!
> 
> Dean has to meet Cas' coworkers for the first time, which is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Look! Backstory! Exposition! Insight into character development!
> 
> Also, this isn't beta-read so I apologize in advance.

Dean wasn’t gonna lie - he was totally checking himself out in the reflection of the big glass doors at the front of the library as he walked up. Not in a vain, self-indulgent sort of way. More in the “God I hope I look nice enough for my date not to be embarrassed to be seen with me” manner. The appreciative glances he was getting from undergrads as he walked from his car to the front of the building had his confidence building, though. The black blazer fit him perfectly -  the tailor had been a splurge he’d made just before going to the bank to take out a small business loan that started Heavenly Ink. He was wearing one of the few solid-colored button-down shirts he owned (a nice burgundy that went well with his skin tone, if Charlie was to be believed) and he’d decided to ditch his contacts for glasses and go for nerdy-chic when something got caught in his eye before his last client of the day. He’d spent so much time in the mirror fluffing up and patting down his hair, he’d forgotten to replace his black lip ring with a spacer before he left the shop and was now worrying it with his teeth self-consciously as approached the building. At least he’d decided on his nicer black jeans this morning. Dean bounded up the few stairs which led to the entrance and held open the door for a cute undergrad in braids who was trying to stuff her laptop cord into her bag while walking, then made his way to the front desk. A fellow he vaguely recognized from Charlie’s monthly Tattoo Meetups was manning the desk as he sidled up, unsure, and stood awkwardly. The man looked up from the computer and squinted with a distracted smile.

 

“Hello, can I help you?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean fiddled with a pencil on the desk for something to do with his hands. “Is, uh… Castiel here?”

 

The man at the counter blinked and his polite smile turned into a bright one. “Oh! Yeah! I knew I recognized you. Dean, right? Castiel’s in his office, he told me you might get here before he was done. It’s downstairs, you want me to show you?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

The man raised his voice without turning around. “Hey, Hannah! I’ll be right back.”

 

A woman with a kind face and mouse-brown hair popped up from a cart behind the desk. “Ten minutes, Chuck. And don’t go looking for Becky, she’s at the Union,” she replied gently but firmly. She nodded at Dean in acknowledgement then returned to whatever she was doing as the man - Chuck, apparently - flushed and huffed self-consciously. “Right!” He looked Dean up and down as he walked the length of the desk, gesturing for the taller man to follow. “Hot date?”

 

Dean tried to cover his nerves with a cocky half-smile. “Some kinda New Employee shindig. Cas said his boss told him to go.” He shrugged like he wasn’t super nervous about the impression he was currently making on Castiel’s co-worker.

 

Chuck nodded. “Oh yeah. The Bee Why Eee Bee… Becky’s been talking about it for a while. Apparently she never gets to go and, well… Do you know Becky Rosen? The Student Outreach Coordinator?” 

 

“Uhhhh…”

 

“Blonde? Super perky? Great smile…” Chuck gave a slightly wistful sigh. “She’s got a thing with your brother, I think? Sam Winchester?”

 

Ohhhhhh…. THAT Becky. Dean scoffed a little. “Ohhh. Yeah.  _ Becky _ . Hah.” He clapped Chuck on the shoulder in a not unfriendly manner. “Yeah. That one’s all yours, bud. Sammy’s got a girl named Jess back in California.” He laughed and shook his head. “That Becky, though… tenacious.” 

 

Chuck frowned. “But I’ve seen them together at your shop. Sam never looks uncomfortable…”

 

“That’s cuz Sam’s a huggy son of a- um. An affectionate guy. Gets it from our Mom. I’ve seen her hug strangers at the supermarket.” He spied Chuck looking at him appraisingly as they exited the stairwell. “Plus, apparently this Becky asked him out a couple months back and he told her he wasn’t interested, but wasn’t gonna make it all weird cuz you all come into the shop all the time. He just gives her good-natured shit about it now.” Chuck was slowing down, and Dean hoped Cas’ office was nearby. He was pretty sure, if they walked any further, they’d end up in a dungeon somewhere.

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah, so… go… get ‘em, tiger. Like I said.” Dean awkwardly, lightly punched at the smaller man’s shoulder and attempted to grin. From the look he got from Chuck, it had come out as more of a confused grimace. It probably didn’t help that they had stopped and Dean had likely held his post-punching thumb’s up longer than was socially appropriate. He panicked and did what probably looked like Air-Bending before casting around desperately for something to fill the silence. His already-wracked brain settled on:

“So, you library, huh? How’s that?” (God, was ‘To Library’ even a verb???)

 

Chuck looked him up and down with a squint, assessing carefully for the first time. Then he nodded carefully and smirked, starting to walk again.

 

“Okay, I get it now.”

 

Dean was confused and lost in a library with a very strange little bearded man. “Wait, you get  _ what _ ?” 

 

Chuck smiled a real, genuinely friendly smile. “What Castiel sees in you. You look all cool and whatever, but you’re just as weird as he is.” Chuck waved his hand before the taller man could formulate an indignant reply. “I mean that as a compliment, of course. Everyone here wants to be weird like Castiel. He’s got a certain... je ne sais quoi.” They sidled up to a beige door with a nametag that said:

 

  1. Novak  
Sr. Research Librarian



 

He had a nameplate on his office and everything. And jokes taped to his door in languages Dean only recognized from tracing stencils on people’s bodies. And… was that a cat in rain boots? No, he was fine. He could do this. New Dean was a confident, mature, business-owning boyfriend (he still wasn’t completely used to that word, even in his brain) who totally had his shit together and didn’t want a drink before coming in and wasn’t freaking out at the idea of suddenly outing himself in a very public, very work-related event with said boyfriend.

 

Chuck knocked. “Special delivery!” He stepped back and gestured for Dean to enter at Castiel’s muffled “come in.”

 

“Have fun with the stiffs at the banquet and… thanks,” the librarian said as he retreated back the way they had come. “I’ll have a talk with Becky.”

 

Dean waved distractedly and opened the door.

  
  


Castiel was standing in his rolled-up shirtsleeves in front of a whiteboard calendar with what appeared to be the most color-coordinated scheduling system Dean had ever seen. He had on light gray dress pants and a matching waistcoat of all things, his navy-blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. An orange marker was clutched in one hand and another was grasping at his dark hair. (No wonder it always looked so spikey when Dean saw him). He turned at the sound of the door opening, both men smiling and visibly relaxing upon making eye contact. Dean looked, if possible, more phenomenal than Castiel remembered.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

“Hey, Professor.” Dean grinned and Cas rolled his eyes, putting down his marker and giving the tattoo artist his full attention. 

 

“I’m a librarian, Dean. I’m not responsible for teaching these mongrels.” He sighed and glanced furtively at the whiteboard. “Well, not usually. I apologize for running late. I’m in the middle of somewhat of a scheduling quagmire.” He came around his desk and pecked Dean quickly on the lips in greeting.

 

“Scheduling hell, huh? Sounds… un-fun.” Great vocab, Winchester. Awesome. “What’s the deal?”

 

Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s shoulder and slumped, sighing in a put-open manner. “Bal decided  _ this afternoon  _ that I need to take on an intern in the fall for some of my responsibilities, and has assigned me a linguistics undergraduate named Kevin. He expects me to let some…  _ child _ assist me with some of my translations so I can ‘help the grad students like I’m supposed to’ but I just...” 

 

Dean threaded his fingers through Castiel’s own and couldn’t help but smile at the other man’s impersonation of the his boss. “Not looking forward to shepherding the rugrat? I get that.”

 

“I’ll have to check over everything he does for months, Dean. It’s not giving me  _ less _ work, it’s giving me  _ more _ . And I already have quite a few projects, as well as an open office for students who need access to the archives. I’m simply…” Cas looked at Dean and rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. “I doubt I’m cut out to be a very good mentor.”

 

Dean leaned back and tipped down to catch the librarian’s eyeline. “Hey. You’ll be great. Balthazar might be a dick, but he knows you, right? He wouldn’t stick you with some bratz-doll brained schmuck.” He considered for a moment. “Well, he wouldn’t  _ permanently _ stick you with someone like that.” He smiled as Cas leveled an unamused glare at him.“You’ll be great - hell, you taught me a bunch of stuff while I was distracted as hell. T.. Te futueo et calla… caballum tuum. ” Dean grinned at Castiel’s wide, slightly horrified eyes. “See? I told you swearing in Latin was sexy. And that was just you screwing around last week! Teaching some kid who’s not actively imagining you naked should be a breeze.” He wrapped his arms around Castiel and rubbed his hand comforting up and down the back of his waistcoat. “You’re awesome one-on-one, and this kid is probably just as big a nerd for dead-people languages as you are.”

 

Castiel looked steadily into Dean’s face. His own insecurities were still eating away at him, but some of the manic frustration he’d worked up while attempting to finagle his schedule to accommodate this new responsibility faded in the face of such blind optimism. 

“They’re not all dead languages, but… thank you, Dean. That was… oddly impressive,” he leaned in and kissed his boyfriend solidly because it occurred to him it was allowed. Pulling away slowly, he smirked at Dean.

 

“Naked, huh?”

 

Green eyes looked down bashfully before Dean schooled his face into a confident, toothy smile. “Hey, just cuz I’m new to this doesn’t mean I don’t have a really,  _ really _ good imagination. I’m an artist, after all,” Dean replied coyly. “And you, Babe, are one hell of a canvas.” Then - the dork - Dean clicked his tongue and winked, making a sort of pistol-shooting motion with his pointer finger. Cas just stared for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed.

 

“You are…unbelievable.” Still huffing with sporadic laughs, Castiel shook his head. “ Hoe het ek jou vind?” He moved to grab his jacket.

 

“Hey, no fair!” Dean sputtered. “I don’t think that was even a real language.” 

 

Cas rolled his eyes and tugged down his sleeves before shrugging into his suit coat. “Afrikaans is a language just as surely as English, Dean. Just because you’ve never heard it doesn’t make it gobbledygook,” he teased lightly.

 

“Ah. More travel through the Garrison?”

 

Castiel looked at him, slightly bemused. “All my odd languages are from travel with my family.”

 

Dean laughed. “Depends on your definition of odd languages.”

 

Cas smiled and gestured to the door. “I suppose… Shall we?”

 

“Might as well,” the big scary tattoo artist managed to squeak out, steeling himself and worrying his lip ring again. Cas noticed.

 

“Hey.” He paused and leaned his forehead against Dean’s, nose lightly bumping Dean’s glasses askew and hand rubbing the back of the other man’s neck in soothing circles. “Everyone’s going to love you. You’re amazing.” He smiled ruefully. “Now get it together, because I’m about to slowly freak out as I’m forced to interact with dozens of new people for my job.” He stated it lightly, like it was a joke, but Dean heard the undercurrent of nerves in his tone and took a deep breath, sighing it out through his nose.

 

“Okay, sorry.” He moved his own hand up to rub up and down Castiel’s side. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be great. You tell me if you need  _ anything _ , got it?”

 

Genuine gratitude filled Castiel’s chest with a feeling like champagne bubbles. “I will. Thank you.” They pulled away from one another and headed out the door.

  
  
  
  


Walking towards the Student Union in companionable silence, Dean was struck by a sudden thought. “So - Greek, Latin, French from studying classics, and what, Afrikaans from travelling as a kid? What other languages do you know? What the hell were you doing in South Africa? I mean, I know you told me your folks were all the evangelical, warriors-for-god type but… Africa? Like, were you guys missionaries or something?”

 

Cas sighed. Talking about his family was difficult, not only because their loss was an enduring ache, but because it was legitimately convoluted. “It’s… complicated.”

He glanced at Dean, but the blonde man simply looked at him expectantly as they walked. He sighed again. “I always assumed all of christendom was like we were, until Raphael. The Garrison was an evangelical church, yes, but I didn’t realize how their zealotry led to violence until my oldest brother left on a mission trip and returned… changed. He’d always been moderate... for our church, anyway. He’d wanted to be a doctor, in fact. Then they sent him and a bunch of other boys from the church to the Sudan…”

 

“Oh my God.”

 

Cas looked at Dean ruefully. “Yeah.  _ Now _ I know. At the time? We had no idea. The Garrison was one of those self-enclosed communities. Families go to the church, send their kids to school at the church, do social activities at the church… We were in the middle of Wyoming, then South Africa, then Morocco, then back home to Wyoming. How were we to know our siblings were being sent into a warzone to defend Christianity from “the infidels”?” 

 

Dean frowned. “Woof. Sounds pretty culty, man.”

 

He sighed heavily. “Oh yeah. Raph came back a different person. I didn’t even recognize him at first. Then they tried to send Gabe… and he ran. I was twelve.” He looked vaguely in the direction of Lokikery and smiled. “I didn’t see him again until I was twenty-one. He saved me, you know.”

 

“Who, Gabriel?”

 

“Yeah… when I told my parents I was officially not coming back to the church after college they came and got me. Naomi, she’s my oldest sister-”

 

“Yeah, you told me about her. She’s the one who always told you you were weird, right?” interrupted Dean with a displeased face. 

 

Cas laughed. “Among other things. Yes.” He grabbed Dean’s hand as they approached the Student Union’s main entryway. “Well, she came and got me at my college graduation. All of my apartment had been packed and sent ahead. They drove me all the way from Northwestern home to Wyoming, sat me down, and tried to convince me I wasn’t actually gay and it was a test from God. Then they informed me I’d be not only financially cut off but shunned from the community if I were to leave again, and tried to appeal to my loyalty by telling me I should stay because my linguistics talent and other…  _ skills  _ made me - quote - One of God’s finest tacticians in the war - unquote-.”

 

Dean gaped. “Holy shit!”

 

“I know!”

 

“Like, what war, even?”

 

Cas blew out a frustrated breath. “You know, I used to know… But then I discovered the rest of the world and humanity was just so much bigger and brighter and more complex than I’d ever been taught.” He smirked at Dean as the other man held the door open for him. “Serves ‘em right for letting me go to a liberal arts school. Anyway, Gabe showed up in a moving van at like 2am on a Wednesday and told me to get my stuff, took me back to Illinois, and told me that I was doing what I wanted. He put me through Grad School and we eventually moved here together. He says it’s because the taxes for small businesses are better in Kansas but… I think we both enjoyed having family around.”

 

Dean threw his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders and squeezed. “So I have the owner of the frekin’ Lokikery bakery to thank, not only for the best first-date-pie I’ve ever had, but for dragging your ass outta BFE in the first place?” Dean whistled low. “Remind me to email him my Grama Dee’s apple pie recipe, will ya?”

 

Cas laughed and bumped his shoulder against Dean’s. “Well, meet him first, before you go giving him all of your secrets. Gabe can be a little… much.” It occurred to Cas vaguely that he couldn’t ever remember laughing about his rather painful exodus from the Garrison. Sure, there were other details - serious, should-probably-be-discussed-in-therapy details - but even being this candid was… jarring. His comfort level with this strange man was unique, that was for certain.

Suddenly, they were standing in front of a large conference room on and Dean was pulling his hand in the direction of a mass of people. Cas’ eyes bugged out for a moment, then he tried to chuckle self-deprecatingly at the tattoo artist.

 

“Now I know why you were asking about my family. Distracting me ‘til we got here?”

 

Dean smiled, looking a little guilty. “Maybe at first,” he admitted. “Course, the more I hear about your origin story, the more I can’t figure out how I ended up your arm candy. It’s pretty cool to hear about how you grew up, even if it was crazypants.” He grinned, flashing all his teeth. “I mean, my backstory isn’t exactly sunshine and roses either, but you’ve got a whole other level of stranger-than-fiction going on.”

 

“Thanks,” replied Castiel dryly, then took a breath and grabbed Dean’s hand as they entered the gauntlet of KU academia.

  
  
  


They had been at the event for almost two hours and Cas had let go of Dean’s hand exactly twice. The first time, he had been trying to finagle a cocktail napkin, plate, and drink all at once. This time, he had run to the restroom and Dean had, after a whispered conversation regarding personal boundaries, insisted on being left at the table. He was people-watching when a vaguely familiar figure pulled out the seat next to him and plopped down.

 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the eldest Winchester! Glad to see Cassie’s cleaned you up is showing you off. How’s the ink business?” Upon assessing the slightly panicked expression on Dean’s face, the blonde man with the British accent leaned forward and extended his hand. “Balthazar Milton, I apologize. I’ve heard quite a bit about you lately, I forget I’m probably just another face from the library to you.”

 

Dean perked up. “Oh, yeah! Balthazar! Hey, nice to officially meet ya.” He shook the offered man’s hand solidly. “You known Cas a while, huh?”

 

Balthazar nodded knowingly. “Oh yes, I hired him, actually. Right out of Champlain. He was my assistant - I’ve kept him around ever since. Damn good at his job, though don’t tell him I told you.”

 

Dean scoffed. “Secret’s safe with me, I’ll just tell him myself.”

 

“Well, it’ll mean more from you anyway,” Balthazar muttered testily into his clear wine glass, then emptied it. “I’m off for another. Can I get you anything?”

 

Dean gestured to his water glass. “Naw, I’m good.”

 

Balthazar scoffed. “Nonsense, what can I get you?”

 

“Really. I’m good,” replied Dean with a slightly less bright smile. He hadn’t even told Cas about the whole Year Sober milestone thing yet. He  _ really _ didn’t want to out himself to the guy’s boss first. “Driving home and all that.” He caught Castiel’s eye from across the room and watched the man sway slightly on his feet, clutching another glass that looked much more full than the one he’d been holding when he left. Dean nodded in his boyfriend’s direction. “‘Sides, I should probably keep my wits about me if Cas keeps his pace up.”

 

Balthazar looked over his shoulder and smiled fondly at Castiel, who was weaving his way through the people and obviously attempting to stay out of anyone’s way whilst avoiding unnecessary eye contact. “That man… I hated telling him he had to come tonight, but he’ll have fun despite himself.” He sighed and Dean had a sudden thought.

 

“Were you and Cas…”

 

Balthazar laughed once, loudly. “Me and Cassie? Oh goodness, no. He doesn’t need an albatros like me around his neck, not with all that he’s dealt with. No, I’d have done nothing but break his fragile little heart.”

 

“Dealt with stuff? Like with the Garrison stuff?”

 

Balthazar’s jovial demeanor became very serious in an instant. “He told you about that?”

 

“A little,” Dean shifted uncomfortably and eyed Cas, still far enough away not to hear. “I didn’t know it was, like, a big… deal?”

 

Balthazar assessed him critically. Dean futzed with his lip ring. “Well haven’t you been given the keys to the kingdom?” Balthazar graced him with a smirk and a conspiratorily-raised eyebrow. “Don’t prompt people with that information, my boy. I know of exactly four people who know where he came from, and two of them are the Novak boys. So… do what you will with that little tidbit, but know you’re part of an elite crew. Castiel doesn’t make friends easily. Also, not that I believe it’ll be needed, but-” The blonde man leaned in spoke softly to Dean’s ear. “We well-read types are deceivingly efficient with body disposal, should you ever do something so monumentally stupid as to make him suffer.” 

 

Dean laughed nervously and took a sip of water for something to do. “I, uh… don’t think you have to worry, man. But. Thanks?”

 

“Cheers.” Balthazar tipped his glass towards Dean as Cas finally wobbled his way to the table. He plopped down next to Dean and tipped back the rest of his wine in two large swallows. “Cassie, darling, how many is  _ that _ might I ask?”

 

Cas leveled a glare up at his friend. “It is number My-Boss-Told-Me-To-Be-Social, mother,” he grumbled. 

 

Balthazar held both his hands in surrender and unsuccessfully held in a laugh. “Just a friendly inquiry, I have been assured you are in excellent hands.” He winked lasciviously at Dean and then stage whispered to his friend, “Don’t get so drunk you throw up in that beautiful car of his, I’ll never let you live it down.”

 

Dean honestly blanched a little. “He can hold his liquor, can’t he? Baby can’t handle that kind of-”

 

“Glossing over the psychological implications of naming your car Baby, I can assure you that Castiel is capable of holding unprecedented amounts of liquor. Have no fear, your overtly masculine security blanket shall not be sullied this night… unless, of course, you’re the one sullying.”

 

“Balthazar, hush. You’re making him uncomfortable,” Cas glowered at his boss, then turned to Dean with an intense look on his face. He raised a pointer finger and, slowly, brought it to land on the tattoo artist’s nose. “Boop!” His face lit up with a playfully amused smile, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. 

 

“Oh man,” he looked to Balthazar, chuckling and attempting to catch Cas’ finger (which was now loop-de-looping around Dean’s head attempting to Boop different parts of his face). “How long did he have to stay at this thing for it to count?” 

 

“Oh, I would say it’s likely better that he leave sooner than later. He got through dinner itself and I know the Dean of Students saw him so I’m off the hook.” He took in his friend and patted Castiel on the head. “Good night, Cassie. It was good to see you, thank you for coming.”

 

“Yes! Bal, this was a good idea, thank you. I got to bring my boyfriend, Dean, and there was chicken. Oh, and there’s free wine! Would… would you like some?” Cas replied in a way distinct to drunk men trying their best to appear sober. It got small spurts of laughter from both his companions. Balthazar clapped Dean on the shoulder. “I hereby pass on the duties of drunk-babysitter from friend to partner. Good luck.” The Brit strode purposefully towards the open bar as Dean assessed the man sitting next to him. 

  
“Okay, bud. Time to go home.”


	7. Someone's Drunk! (Not to be confused with A Drunk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always that first time someone's drunk in front of their S.O.
> 
> This is one of those times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my Lovely Sparkle:  
> I wish I could be there!! Have a chapter instead :-)

Looking at Cas was like looking at the sun.  Dean kept stealing looks at him sideways as they made their way slowly from the top of the student union to the parking garage. The librarian was wide open, a slight wobble in his step (even though the fresh air outside had sobered him up minutely), grinning at Dean and the sky and the buildings as they walked by and just everything. He had even gone so far as to swing his suit jacket casually over his shoulder with his pointer and middle fingers hooked in the collar. It was obvious Cas was enthused about whatever he was talking about, but it was hard for Dean to follow the thread as his boyfriend had switched to what he assumed was Latin about two hundred feet past the steps of the Biology building. The artist chose to observe and enjoy, watching Castiel - looking every inch some escaped Oxford professor - jump up on a planter and begin walking along the concrete rim, one arm windmilling wildly before he caught his balance, as he went on and on about… maybe insects? Context clues, Winchester, context clues. Dean just nodded and grinned back and made interested noises like he understood what the hell he was agreeing with.

 

“Tibi in tua cilia insects. Omnis habet…” Cas stopped abruptly and sighed wistfully. “Vita pulchra est.” He blinked several times staring at the stars and Dean couldn’t be bothered trying to remember the last time he felt so cleanly happy. There was silence for a few moments before…

 

“Dean, how long, uh…” Dean could see the blush rising on Castiel’s cheeks and noticed the other man had squeezed his eyes shut and crinkled his nose like he was bracing himself. “How long have I been speaking in… in Latin?”

 

Dean barked out a laugh. “Hah! Uh… since the Bio Building? It started with some proper Latin names for, like, bee varieties and you just kept going like I changed the language setting.” Cas turned and looked down on him with wide eyes.

 

“You let me talk at you in a dead language for _ten minutes_? Dean! Wh…” He looked around comically like the answer would come to him. “WHY?”

 

Dean threw his head back and laughed with his whole body. Cas struck a hilarious figure, dressed like he was and glowering down at him from his perch on the planter, completely flabbergasted. “Dude, it was awesome’s why.” Cas crinkled his nose and frowned. Dean, still snorting a little, held out his hand. “What can I say, I think it’s hot when you go all brainiac on me. It’s still a novelty, don’t worry. Give it time, I’ll stop you at your first ‘anima’ or whatever.”

 

The librarian’s frowning face turned calculating and he narrowed his eyes, smirking as he grabbed the proffered hand, hopped down, and crowded into Dean’s space with bedroom eyes. “No it won’t. I’ll be whispering things to you in tongues till you’re seventy and you’ll still think it’s hot.”

 

Then the little fucker winked and neither of them could keep it together anymore, cracking up so hard they had to sit down on the planter Cas had jumped off of.

 

Still giggling but trying to catch his breath, Dean looped an arm around the other man’s shoulders and pressed him tight. “Eh, probably,” he wheezed, specifically not following the logic progression that ended in him consciously agreeing he would be with Cas at seventy. He huffed. “I’ll have to learn coding or something so I know a language you don’t." Castiel laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, sighing as his laughing fit ended. They sat and breathed together for a quiet moment, Cas getting his sea legs again and Dean enjoying the solid warmth coming from the man next to him.

 

Castiel’s inebriated brain had been chasing fragments of thought in the quiet, and he broke the silence with a fragile; “Dean?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You ever think we lost each other before? Like… not as _us._ But as us before we were us. I mean… never mind. It’s childish.”

 

Dean straightened up and tried to look at Cas, whose head stayed resolutely glued to Dean’s shoulder. “You mean, like, past lives or something?”

 

Cas shrugged.

 

“I dunno, man. Maybe.” He snuffed a half-amused laugh to himself. “Gotta make sure you wanna keep me before you start with all that, though,” he mused.

 

Cas snorted. “Yeah, okay. I get to decide to keep _you_. Ridiculous. Like you don’t deserve…” He cast about for a moment, then pointed vaguely upwards, “that.”

 

Dean smiled. “I deserve the emergency phone booth?”

 

Cas snorted and hit the artist playfully across the chest. “Don’t be obtuse. I was pointing to a star.” He groaned and buried his head in Dean’s shoulder. “Which, upon saying out loud outs me as both unforgivably romantic and unsalvageably drunk.”

 

“Really? You think the monologue about bugs and walking on the planter didn’t tip me off before?” Dean arched an eyebrow skeptically.

 

“Well, I can hardly be blamed. There were lots of terrible people. And free wine.” Cas popped his head up and scowled at Dean. “How are you not drunk? WHY aren’t you drunk? You should be drunk with me… I think I have wine at home... “ Cas stood abruptly and tugged on Dean’s hand. “Take me home so we can be drunk together.”

 

Dean stood, letting Cas tug him in the direction of the parking garage and threaded his fingers between the other man’s, staying conspicuously quiet as they walked. He concentrated on the feeling of the hand in his - male, larger than he was used to, long fingers, soft palm… he memorized the feeling instead of listening to Old Dean, who was currently screaming at him to lie about the drinking - or better yet, just have a couple glasses of wine! - because nobody as shiny and strong as Castiel would want something as banged up and broken as he was. It was the memory of how proud he was when Benny handed him that year chip last month, though, that made the decision for him. Screw it, he had been through some shit and had pulled himself together. He’d tell Cas… somehow.

 

The choice was made for him, turns out.

  
  
  


Sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, Cas studied Dean as they drove. He’d been very quiet since their conversation on the planter, and the librarian had thought for a few minutes that the suddenly stunted conversation had something to do with his drunken romanticism. He was inebriated but not stupid, though, and it didn’t take long to put the pieces together.

 

Dean had clammed up when Cas demanded he be taken home for more drinking. But Dean hadn’t had even one beer, wine, cocktail, anything the entire night. Every time Cas had dragged him up to the bar to order another chardonnay he’d asked if Dean wanted anything and had been greeted with an easy smile, a self-conscious adjustment of his glasses, and an order for water with lime in a Collins glass. Dean had never once used the lime, though, and even took it off his glass once it was just the two of them at the table. Cas had thought it quirky, but he knew - better than most - that people had quirks. Thinking back, Cas had never seen Dean drink, and all of his stories involving alcohol seemed to be very old. There was always a valid reason the man wasn’t drinking - he was working, he was driving Sam, he had a long commute… But Cas recognized the thinking face Dean was making at the road right now. His best friend from college, Meg, had worn that face right before she came clean about where she’d disappeared to the summer between their first and second years in grad school. (He still owns a copy of that particular Casa Erotica for blackmail purposes). Raphael had that face on before he shut off completely and he had refused to talk about his time away. Gabe always made that face when Cas asked how he’d known to come get him in Wyoming. It was the face he usually made when thinking of telling people he’d been born and raised in a weirdo Christian warrior-cult. Anyway… he knew the face. And Dean was obviously trying to work up the gumption to get the words out - he kept opening his mouth and taking a breath, then closing his mouth and deflating a little bit. Oh, he was an idiot, telling Dean they should drink together. It must have made the entire Pandora’s box of letting the cat out of the bag so much more difficult. Ugh, and now he was mixing metaphors… damn it, Damn it! Cas was suddenly simultaneously frustrated with his impaired state allowing him to say such insensitive things and grateful it was taking the edge off what would _definitely_ have been a self-recrimination-induced panic attack. He steadied his breathing ( _In-two-three-four-five, Out-two-three-four-five, In…)_ and decided he’d put his poor boyfriend out of his misery. (Because that was what they were now, as weird and crazy as it was…) And, good God, what was a little problem with alcohol compared to all the nicely-packed bags full of crazy Cas was slowly unpacking from his own past. He cleared his throat and Dean jumped at the sudden sound.

 

“It’s… uh… just here. Take a left and I’m the unit on the end.”

 

“Oh, yeah… cool.” Dean pulled into Castiel’s apartment complex and parked in front of his building. He swallowed and took a deep breath, hands still gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. “Cas…”

 

“Is it just alcohol? Because I’m pretty sure Gabe left some weed here so he would have some when he stays over,” Castiel asked with quiet humor, putting a gentle, soothing hand on Dean’s bicep.

 

Dean’s face whipped around to meet Castiel’s eyes and went through a gamut of emotions. Cas slid carefully across the bench seat to be closer to the other man, approaching like one would a skittish rabbit. Dean’s face landed on awe-filled, surprised relief before he whipped his glasses off, scrubbing a hand down his face hard. Then he laughed humorlessly, still covering his eyes with his hand.

 

“Ugh. Just booze, actually,” he ground out in a voice that was just watery and wobbly enough to play Castiel’s heartstrings like a cello. He pointed to himself and sniffed, doing that strange stretching-his-top-lip with wide eyes thing that Gabe always did when he was trying to keep tears from forming. “Alcoholic,” he stated flatly, studying his glasses intently before putting them back on. “Well, recovering… technically,” he mumbled, unable to hide a hint of pride at the statement.

 

Cas cursed his still tipsy balance as he leaned in awkwardly and met Dean’s eyeline, but the smile he gave the artist was genuine and lit up the car. “That’s fantastic. Do you mind if I ask how long?”

 

Dean smirked and huffed out a breath. “Was a year on the Fourth of July. Woke up that day and I figured… figured if I could make it through the whole day, people offerin’ me beer and stuff, I could… y’know.” Dean shrugged. “And I did.”

 

“Dean Winchester.” Cas climbed awkwardly onto his knees on the seat as he schooled his expression into his best Serious Librarian Scolding Face. “Do not _ever_ refer to something as difficult, profound, and life-changing as getting sober as ‘y’know’ to _anyone_ \- you understand me?” The air-quotes around ‘y’know’ removed his supporting hand from the back of the seat and he swayed mightily, but managed to hang on to his patented righteous-indignation-frown. Dean looked at him curiously as he continued. “It’s huge. _Huge_ ! You, you had a problem and you did something about it. Just… just _did it_ ! Just woke up one morning and boof! No mas cervesa. Por sienpre!” Gesticulating, it turned out, was not a good idea when one was balancing on a car’s front seat on one’s knees, but Cas just couldn’t get the message from his slightly foggy brain to his hands. Besides, he was on a roll now. “And it’s been over a year! You’re allowed to be proud of yourself, because that’s something to be proud of! You looked a demon in the face and said, said… You! You… go away. You’re bad. You’re beautiful and seductive and awful and I’m not listening to you anymore.” He slumped a little, the pit of guilt in his stomach rearing its ugly head again. “And I know it’s still in there. Meanwhile, I was sitting right next to you at an event _I_ dragged you to where liquor was everywhere and you had to watch me get _toasted_ and… Jesus, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I don’t care that you can’t drink, I don’t really do it much but socially. And using it as a coping mechanism isn’t healthy anyway, and I know I’ve probably made you so uncomfortable, all evening with everything, and I’m still a little tipsy so I just keep talking, but it just takes such amazing character to do what you’ve mmf-”

 

Dean dragged Castiel into an abrupt, passionate kiss with a hand to the back of his head. It didn’t last long, but it left Castiel’s head spinning in a most pleasant manner and successfully derailed his anxiety-spiral babbling. Dean pulled back and leaned their foreheads together, meeting Cas’ eyes from centimeters away.

 

“You don’t make me uncomfortable, Cas. That’s the thing,” Dean rasped. “You should. You so should, but instead I…” He interrupted himself with a disbelieving head shake and kissed Castiel again like he was trying to imprint something onto his mouth. The artist pulled back and smiled. “Don’t ever change, you got that? You’re… you’re something else.”

 

Cas smirked back. “You bet I am. I’m a goddam angel.”

 

Dean laughed as they both sat back, Cas swaying slightly. “Oh you are, are you?”

 

“Yup!” Cas popped the “p” with a grin. “Got the wings now to prove it and everything.”

 

“Well, you’ve got one.”

 

“Mmm. So I’m half angel,” Cas mused as they maneuvered to get out of the car. “What’s half an angel even mean? Fallen angel? Nephalem? Some sort of Incubus?”

 

Dean walked around to the passenger side door and man-handled his pensive librarian out of the car, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Mmm, incubus? I’m game for that experiment.”

Cas stood up and swayed heavily against Dean as he suddenly felt much less steady on his feet than he had on campus.

“-oop!” Dean caught him. “Though perhaps some other night.”

 

“Says you.  Just… just give me a bit. I’ll get my second wind any minute.”

 

Dean looked at him skeptically as they made their way to Castiel’s apartment door. Cas may or may not have been leaning rather heavily on the strong, solid support that was his boyfriend. He very much enjoyed it, and melodramatically draped himself over the other man. (That he was a man in his thirties who had accidentally drunk enough that he actually, really, very much needed the support to stand was a secret he’d take to his grave).

 

They made it inside Castiel’s apartment without incident, and Dean bypassed the couch - much to Cas’ annoyance, and deposited him directly into bed.

 

“Okay, Angel. Time for you to sleep it off.”

 

Cas scowled and Dean laughed.

 

“Listen, it’s only like nine. I’m used to making the drive home way later, don’t worry.” He dropped a kiss on Castiel’s nose and headed to the en suite bathroom, running water over a washcloth. “I’ll get you all situated and head out, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

 

Cas continued scowling. “I think you’ve utterly misinterpreted the cause of my displeasure, Dean,” he called out petulantly. Then he shifted his shoulders, suddenly aware of the way his shirt was rubbing against his tattoo and made a rather undignified squawking noise, flailing in his attempt to reach his own back. “Oh god, Dean, it itches so badly.”

 

Dean hurried back into the bedroom and threw his head back in a guffaw at the sight of Cas attempting to wrestle out of his shirt without removing his waistcoat. “Stop, stop!” He chuckled and sat down on the bed next to Castiel, softly grabbing his hands and moving them to his lap. “You’ll hurt yourself… or the tattoo.”

 

“That _would_ be a tragedy,” conceded Cas and Dean tried to hide the blush at the casually sincere praise.

 

Dean laid the damp cloth on the foot of the bed and nabbed one of Castiel’s wrists. “Here, c’mere. Nerd,” he chastised lightly and unbuttoned the cuff, then reached for his right wrist and undid the other. Cas watched with interest as Dean clinically undid the buttons of his waistcoat, then moved his hands to the top button of his shirt. The artist’s graceful hands faltered and he hesitated, glancing at Castiel’s face and catching him staring. They held one another’s gaze for a few seconds before Cas raised a hand and delicately traced one of Dean’s cheekbones with a finger.

 

“Faínesai tóso ómorfi se potíria,” Cas mumbled, staring unapologetically.

 

Small smile lines highlighted Dean’s green eyes. “What?”

 

“Your glasses... You’re so beautiful.” His finger continued its tracing absently. “Not just outside. You burn so brightly, it’s a wonder you don’t blind yourself.”

 

Dean looked down and scoffed a little, but Cas was close enough to see the blush rise up in his cheeks. “Yeah... you too, Angel,” he replied softly, concentrating far too hard on fiddling with the buttons of Castiel’s shirt.

 

Much to Castiel’s disappointment, Dean only undid the top half of his shirt’s buttons. Just beneath his sternum, the tattoist’s gentle hands moved away from the clasps. His right palm slowly slid beneath the material, gliding across pectoral and trapezius muscles to cup the joint of Castiel's shoulder and leaving sparking nerves in its wake. Dean’s other hand pulled at Castiel’s left cuff and the librarian took the cue to bend his arm. A soft, solid touch slid down the Castiel’s arm, material bunching around Dean’s wrist as he pushed it off the proffered arm to expose the left side of Cas' torso. The artist leaned in and stole a kiss, parting with a small Eskimo kiss of their noses which certainly did not steal Castiel's breath like he was in middle school, thank-you-very-much.

 

“Lie down, Babe. Relax, I’ll take care of this and you can go to sleep.”

 

As much as Castiel hated to admit it at nine fifteen on a Friday night with his new significant other in his apartment for the first time… sleep sounded _amazing_. He slowly slunk into a position on his stomach and felt Dean moving around on the bed, grabbing the damp cloth and slowly moving to his side. Castiel hadn’t realized how much the healing tattoo had itched and generally been uncomfortable until the warm washcloth and some ointment made the feelings stop. He sighed and sunk impossibly further into the bed. He heard Dean rumble a chuckle.

 

“Wha?” was Castiel’s super-articulate reply.

 

“Dude, if you were a cat, I think you’d be purring,” Dean replied with amusement.

 

Castiel’s response was to inhale deeply and make a deep rumbling sound in the back of his throat, sounding much like a purr.

 

Dean got down next to his ear. “You’re a weird little nerd, you know that?” He whispered and kissed Cas' exposed cheek with a smile so wide Cas could feel it. “Okay, I’m gonna go.” He stood up and flipped off the light.

 

“Mmf, no,” Cas groped blindly and grabbed Dean’s thigh. Mmm, nice. He opened the eye that wasn’t smushed into the bed. “Stay.”

 

Dean crouched down to eye-level and leaned into Cas’ space. “Man, if I stay much later I’m gonna wanna sleep,” he laughed.

 

Cas turned his head so he could open both eyes and meet Dean’s. “So sleep here.”

 

“Like… the couch?” Dean asked cagily, unsure. Cas rolled his eyes.

 

“No, Dean. Not the couch.”

 

Castiel could practically see the pros and cons warring in Dean’s brain. He sighed and sat up suddenly, kicking off his shoes. Dean started and definitely _didn’t_ lose his balance and fall on his ass from his crouched position next to the bed.

 

“Cas, buddy… what. What are you doing?” Asked Dean hesitantly as Castiel started chucking his socks and waistcoat.

 

“I am getting comfortable and going to sleep, Dean. You are absolutely welcome to join me. Here. In my bed. Which is for, amongst many other things, sleeping.” Now sans shirt, Castiel climbed beneath the covers and shimmied out of his dress pants so he could sleep in his boxers. He fluffed his pillow and flopped down dramatically, sighing happily. “It’s very comfortable here, Dean. I hear there may even be negotiations regarding totally confidential, very-manly cuddling. But, if you’d prefer to go drive nearly an hour to your own bed, which does not come with the option for manly-cuddles, well... “

 

Dean rolled his eyes with his entire head, the effect of which was lost slightly as he reached down and started unbuttoning his own shirt. “Okay, okay, fine.” He walked to the other side of the bed and sat down, taking his time to fold his clothes as he took them off and stacked them up military style on top of his boots. “You win,” he grumbled halfheartedly and crawled beneath the blankets, lying on his back.  Things were quiet for a minute and Castiel nearly drifted off in the dark. Then:

 

“So… I was told manly-cuddling was negotiable.”

 

Cas smiled and turned over. “Yes?” He could just make out Dean’s profile in the low light.

 

“So what’s the difference between manly-cuddles and the regular kind?”

 

“Well, manly-cuddles are male-on-male. It’s very manly.”

 

Dean snorted. “Oh really?”

 

“Oh yes,” Cas responded seriously. “See, there are twice the men as there are in the average cuddle.”

 

“Mmhmm. So it’s twice as manly? That your logic?” Cas could see Dean’s toothy smile in relief against the dark background. He hummed undecidedly.

 

“Hmm, well that depends,” Cas teased.

 

“On what?”

 

“On whether that logic will sufficiently balm your bruised masculinity if I glom onto you like an octopus and you like it because you’re a giant, tattooed, teddy bear?”

 

Dean let out a sound Cas could only describe as a chortle and reached out with his arm, swooping around the librarian. “Get your ass over here, I’m in a strange bed because of you.”

 

Castiel snuggled up against Dean’s side and felt the other man sigh deeply, tension seeping from muscles as he touched them. Dean absently ran his fingers up and down Cas’ tricep and they both relaxed into the silence for quite a while. Just before sleep sucked him under, Castiel rubbed his nose against Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Dean?” Castiel whispered.

 

“Mmm?” Was the half-asleep answer.

 

“Thank you for staying.”

 

Dean turned slightly and wrapped his other arm around Castiel’s waist, snuffling into his hair a little in what could have been a kiss and might have just been a half-asleep nuzzle. “Thanks f’r askin. ‘ve never just slept… s’nice.”

 

Cas settled closer, a pang at what that indicated about his companion's previous relationships stringing in his chest. “Well get used to it, I’m a possessive bastard when I care to be,” Cas mumbled half-seriously.

 

“Nope,” Dean replied, though it came out more like “nnnup.” He squeezed Cas. “Can’t. Mine first.” He huffed at his own joke and then, quietly, “I like it.”

 

“Mmm?” It was Cas’ turn for half-asleep answers.

 

“Bein’ your boyfr’nn. You r’mind me t’be better. New Dean. a’like it. You’re amazing.” He interrupted himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Now sleep.”

 

Now Cas was curious. “New Dean?”

 

“Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.”

 

“Wha’s NewDean?” Cas mumbled, curious but losing the battle to the alcohol and his heavy eyelids.

  
“Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. Sleeeeeeeeepshhhhhhh.” Dean’s hand groped blindly and landed on Castiel’s face, gently petting it in what Cas could only assume was an attempt to indicate he should close his (already-shut) eyes. Before the polyglot could articulate a sufficiently witty response, he had obeyed and was, indeed, asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Breakfast of (doubt-ridden) Champions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides to let Cas in on the whole 'Why I Think I'm Screwed Up" story.
> 
> It's probably not nearly as bad as he thinks, but he stress-bakes anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done it! I've begun posting a chapter a week! The full story is outlined, the table is set, and events have been put into motion!
> 
> (Quick tip - never completely swear off a crazy person or they WILL find you.)

Cas woke up Hung. Over. 

 

“mmmnnooooooo,” he complained to his empty apartment and buried his head into his pillow to block out the light streaming in from his far-too-optimistically open blinds. Yeah, yoga was  _ not _ happening this morning. He burrowed further into his covers and took a deep breath, intending to take full advantage of the fact that his best friend was also his boss and would likely have already submitted a PTO day. Except…

 

Did he smell… bacon?

 

……

 

DEAN STAYED OVER.

  
  


The sudden memory that he was indeed  _ not _ alone in his apartment had Cas exploding up out of bed, getting caught in the covers as he scrambled to simultaneously get out of bed, check the time, and find his pants. Unfortunately, being hung over, it all just sort of ended up a tangle of limbs and bed clothes and he ended up tipping unceremoniously off the bed with a loud thump and an inarticulate “Wup!”

 

Ow.

 

Okay. Momentary panic at being a bad host waylaid by the shock of landing on the carpet, Castiel laid on the floor and took stock of his situation. He hadn’t been  _ so _ drunk last night, and nothing untoward had happened. He blamed the hangover on the wine - he needed to stop drinking sugary shit, he was getting too old for this. He seemed to remember going on a tangent about how ubiquitous insects were and nearly killing himself trying not to fall off a concrete planter. Oh, and his boyfriend had issues with booze. Wow. All right. That was some heavy stuff, but in retrospect the librarian thought he’d dealt with the information well considering he, himself, had been about 2 and a half sheets in. And then Dean had been so sweet and gentle getting him ready for bed and rubbing his back… ohhh, his tattoo. That’s why landing on the floor had hurt so much! And had he really won an argument by just abruptly stripping off his clothes? Cas put a pin in  _ that  _ particular strategy... He untangled himself slowly and wrapped himself in his comforter, stumbling towards the siren smell of bacon sizzling combined with several other baking smells he couldn’t place.

  
  


*********************************

 

Dean had been up since nearly four am. He had fallen asleep unprecedentedly easily and unprecedentedly early, and had woken up bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to start the day… while it was still solidly night time. (Seriously, Old Dean had stumbled out of bars later than he had started his day that morning). He’d laid in bed with Castiel for a while and contemplated going home, but he didn’t want his inevitably hung-over new beau to wake up to nothing more than a note or a text. Besides, call him a living rom-com or whatever, but he was still feeling a little insecure about how Cas would feel about the whole “Hey, guess what, I’m an alcoholic and that’s never going away” thing that Castiel had handled so incredibly well the night before. Dean knew better than most that things which seem like nothing after a couple drinks look  _ way _ different in the harsh light of day. It may have been selfish, but he wanted to be there to remind Cas why he was worth keeping around when the librarian woke up and started questioning his life choices. So he’d slipped out of bed and pulled his jeans back on, exploring the apartment a bit. He couldn’t figure out how to work the (frankly epic) entertainment system in the living room, had paged through a couple books on the bookshelf, and looked casually through the cabinets and drawers in the bathrooms before drifting, inevitably, to the expansive kitchen.

 

Dean had begun with the excuse that he wanted to find a snack, worrying his lip ring with his teeth and opening all the cabinets. He was delightfully impressed with how well-stocked the place was. Telling himself he was just seeing what his options were, he opened the fridge for milk - maybe he’d grab some cereal and read a magazine while he waited for Cas to wake up. He pulled out butter instead. Then he noticed the stand mixer pushed into a corner behind the toaster… 

 

When he started pulling out flour and sugar and a rolling pin, he abandoned all pretence that this wasn’t stress-baking and set about making cinnamon rolls from memory. It was an old recipe his mom had taught him - most of the things he knew how to make were. Baking was nice - it was relaxing. Like drawing but more structured, and it allowed him to think while his hands followed the routine of the act. He could think of whether he was going to tell Cas the whole awful, convoluted story of the the Dark Ages, or some abridged version, or if he could get away with leaving that whole awful time in the past. The dough was on its first rise when he decided Castiel at least needed an abridged version. Okay. What were the most important bits? He wrote in the flour on the counter.

 

  * DAD
  * Dealership
  * Amara
  * Ben/Lisa ?



 

He sighed and dusted more flour over it, trying to figure out how he’d get all of this out without completely scaring Cas away. He snorted into the quiet of the kitchen. Balthazar had referred to himself as an albatross around Castiel’s neck - yeah, like he was much better. The sudden desire to run as far away from this relationship as possible rose in Dean like a tidal wave, but the mess in the kitchen forced him to take a breath and re-center himself. He couldn’t leave Cas without a word to clean up his mess - emotionally  _ or _ what he’d done to to the counter. He was a broken human being, but he wasn’t an  _ asshole _ . Well… New Dean was trying very hard not to be, anyway.

 

Waiting for the rolls to rise led to his whipping together some muffins with some random carrots he found in the fridge for more to do with his hands as he practiced conversation starters in his head. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, Dean started making bacon and decided he could do this. Castiel had trusted Dean with information about his background without a thought, so he didn’t see why he shouldn’t trust Cas with the whole…  _ thing _ with his Dad. The thing was, how could he tell Cas about why he didn’t talk to his Dad anymore without telling him about  _ everything _ ? All of it ended up circling around John Winchester, like the drain in a bathtub. Ugh.

 

He was muttering his side of a pretend conversation at the bacon on the stove when Castiel and his blanket-burrito stumbled to the doorway. 

 

“Who are you talking to?” Cas’ voice was rough from sleep, still a little slurred, and he was squinting at Dean across the kitchen. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“Jesus, Cas, warn a guy! Would ya?” He smiled to take the sting out of his reprimand and returned to his task. “There’s cinnamon rolls on that rack over there. And, uh… carrot muffins. If you’re into that. Sammy likes ‘em… I couldn’t figure out your coffee maker though.”

 

Cas smirked. “Not an espresso man, huh?”

 

“Dude, what’s wrong with a normal percolator like everyone else? Or a french press or something?” Dean shook his head disapprovingly. “That shit’s got more levers on it… didn’t wanna fuck up and accidentally nuke Russia or something.”

 

The noise Cas made must have been meant as a laugh, but it sounded more like an amused growl. “I am currently unaware of any ties my espresso machine may have to the American Nuclear Program, but I’ll make sure to investigate thoroughly before I make you learn how to use it.” He started futzing with the machine and had something brewing and another thing frothing before Dean had even finished plating the bacon. “Want some?”

 

Dean wrinkled his nose at first, but whatever Cas was making was mixing with the other smells in the kitchen pretty damn perfectly. “Sure, man. I’ll try your magic coffee-like substance.”

 

“It’s just a latte, Dean, it won’t turn you into a frog. It’s just like at Starbucks.”

 

Dean pointed meaningfully at Cas with a fork. “Hey. I have  _ opinions _ about Starbucks, man. Don’t even get me started.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes and turned away with a small smile. Dean got a couple plates made up and sat down at the small table just past the breakfast bar. Cas joined him with two cups of coffee and sat down, apparently registering his breakfast for the first time. His eyes bugged out a little.    
  


“Oh my God, Dean, did you make  _ all  _ of this?”

 

Dean surveyed the spread: cinnamon rolls with icing, carrot muffins, bacon, some eggs he’d poached while the bacon was cooking when he couldn’t find a second saucepan… it was kind of a lot. “Yeah?” He answered hesitantly.

 

“From scratch?”

 

“... yeah?”

 

“From things that you found in  _ my _ kitchen?”

 

“...yeah …” Dean was suddenly very unsure how well this breakfast was going. He ventured a tentative look up, hoping his host wasn’t super pissed he’d used all the flour. Cas was looking at him like - oh. Like he hung the moon, actually. 

 

“This is amazing, Dean.” Cas laid a gentle hand on the other man’s forearm and squeezed lightly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever cooked me breakfast before. At least, not… y’know. Without being obligated. And certainly never like this…” He looked at their food again and back at Dean. “Thank you,” he finished sincerely. “This is fantastic, and it looks and smells like heaven.”

 

“Well… you’re welcome? I couldn’t go back to sleep so… it’s no big deal.” The bigger man couldn’t help puffing up a little at the genuine gratitude and appreciation in Castiel’s face, all the while fighting the unconscious thought that he shouldn’t be so proud of such a “girly” thing. That last thought became easy enough to ignore, however, when Cas practically pounced on his cinnamon roll and made a frankly obscene noise through the first bite. He realized he was staring, and attacked his bacon with fervor. They both chowed down with gusto for a few minutes.

 

Halfway through his muffin, Cas perked up curiously. “So do you practice conversations aloud often?” He asked. Dean blushed.

 

“You heard that, huh?”

 

Cas smiled not unkindly and continued munching on his breakfast. “I didn’t hear much. I do it too - practice what I’ll say in certain situations… I worried for a moment that you were practicing a Thanks-but-no-thanks speech, but I figured nobody would go through the trouble of breakfast if they weren’t going to stick around for it.” He glanced at the kitchen. “Are there more of these? They are delicious.”

 

“Figures you’d fixate on the thing with vegetables in ‘em,” Dean laughed. “Yeah, there’s like 10 more, help yourself.”

 

Cas retrieved another muffin for himself and settled down with his coffee. Dean had to admit, however Cas made his lattes made them taste way better than anything he’d ever gotten at a cafe.  _ Maybe it’s cuz he makes it with loooooove _ , a fuckin’ annoying part of Dean’s brain supplied, and he couldn’t help but snicker at himself. God, he was letting himself become such a sap.

 

Cas cleared his throat. “So… not practicing for me, I hope?” 

 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and took stock of himself. Barefoot and bare chested and squinting at his coffee because he couldn’t be bothered to grab his glasses with his frickin’ gorgeous, brilliant, funny, strong, academically and professionally successful boyfriend sitting across from him. What the hell was he even doing? God, going back to get dressed when Cas inevitably gave him the ‘you’re nice but not for me’ brush off was gonna be awkward as fuck. He blew out a breath. “Well… kinda.” He looked up quickly, realizing how that sounded. “I mean, not how you think. But I do need to talk to ya.” Dean went back to picking at his second cinammon roll in lieu of continuing.

 

Cas, the smug bastard, smirked with sleepy eyes. “I hardly think anything you tell me will convince me to do whatever you’ve convinced yourself I’ll do. At least, from the look on your face.” He leaned in, threading his fingers around his cup and settling his elbows on the table. “Okay. Out with it. What, do you have a crazy ex-wife I need to look out for or something?” 

 

Dean kept staring at the pastry he was slowly ripping to shreds. He couldn’t meet the guy’s eyes, but smiled despite himself. “Naw, c’mon Cas…”

 

“Dean. Hey, look at me.” Castiel’s tone had shifted and he sounded simultaneously softer and more serious. The blonde looked up and met compassionate blue eyes across the small table. “Talk to me.”

 

“Okay,” Dean blew out on a huge exhale. “Listen, I wanna tell about the whole craziness of the last couple years of my life. Not, like, for pity or anything - I kinda just want to lay it out on the table so you can… y’know. Take it, knowing what a human tornado of disaster I am, or do the smart thing and run from me screaming - hah.” (Try as he might, that last laugh sounded far more forced than self-depreciating). He looked at Cas again and the other matched his gaze intensely.

 

“All right,” he responded quietly and nodded for Dean to speak, settling into his blanket with his coffee.

 

“Okay. So! You know I’m, ah, new to this whole… bi… thing?” 

 

Cas repressed a smile and nodded. 

 

“Yeah. Obviously…,” Dean shook his head, trying to remember how he’d decided to start. “So my Dad - John Winchester, that’s his name - John was always this real man’s man, y’know? He was a mechanic which he rolled into a car dealership… he traveled a lot. And he was super traditional. Mom was always a stay-at-home, which was nice for us, though I think she really likes working now. Anyway, he, like, tried to teach me to hunt in like third grade, really pushed baseball, football, camping, grilling, working on cars, finding a nice girl and starting a family… that sort of stuff. He was my  _ hero _ from as young as I can remember. I always wanted to be just like him, make him proud, y’know?”

 

Cas got a slight sinking feeling as he started to get an idea where this was going. He swallowed and nodded, getting the distinct impression that Dean would continue with or without a response from him.

 

“I, uh… I was kind of a different person for most of my life before now. I wasn’t exactly… the nicest. Most tolerant. Most, uh… monogamous. Anyway,” he waved his hand dismissively. “So I told you before about how my dad bugged out on my mom for the Secret Second Family and I moved in to help her keep the house and that’s… true. But it’s a little more complicated… See, John and Mom had been having problems for a while, but things really got bad when Sammy went away to college. Then, one day, Mom calls me bawling. Turns out, Boom - he’d officially signed over ownership of the Dealership to my Uncle Bobby and had bugged out on her. Then I get a call from Bobby telling me Dad was actually just barely breaking even on the dealership side and so Mom had like nothing to live on. I was living with my girlfriend at the time, Lisa, and her son Ben.” Dean blinked hard and zoned out for a minute. “Good kid,” he stated flatly, then shook himself a little and gave Cas a brittle smile. “Well, Sam ended up taking a year off and coming home, took my position in the garage, and I stepped up and started learning some of the business end. Course, I also started drinking more to deal with the stress. And, well, wouldn’t you know - Ben’s dad chose just that exact time to pop back into their lives… I came home late one one night to a packed suitcase on the front porch and a note to find somewhere else to sleep.” Dean sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I moved back in with my Mom since I didn’t exactly have a lot of other options and hell, I was already paying the mortgage so she kinda insisted. 

“Things with my Dad… did not go smoothly after that. He told me I’d grown to be so much like my mother it was disgusting. Said he understood my taking my mom’s side because I was always so -quote-goddam overly concerned with feelings-unquote-. Dude, I can’t tell you how hard I’d tried my whole life to be all stoic and whatever since he’d taught me all that ‘men don’t show emotion’ bullshit. Told me he was proud of Sam, that Adam was his chance to ‘fix his mistakes’ with me. He got wind Lisa kicked me out and started hounding me about how I wasn’t man enough to keep a family together when he’d kept together two for years. ‘At least now that boy can be raised by a real man,’ he said.” Dean laughed a little bitterly at that. “And I actually followed that logic, y’know? What kind of man was I? Living in his childhood bedroom and spending eighty hours a week at a failing dealership I didn’t even enjoy running. I ended up going out a lot.. Like  _ a lot _ . Bars, clubs, whatever.”

 

“Well  _ that’s _ understandable,” Castiel mumbled and Dean barked a laugh. Cas’ eyes widened and it became apparent he hadn’t meant to speak. He winced. “Sorry, please continue,” he said, waving his hand for Dean to resume the story.

 

“Kay. Ugh, god, I just keep talking!” Dean raked his hand hard over his face and then slapped the table lightly. “Okay! So! Four years ago I meet Amara. She’s… well, she’s a whole other thing, but just know she’s in L.A. and I never plan on interacting with her again. Like… ever. But at the time? Man, she was everything I thought I wanted. Hot. Like, almost-as-hot-as-you hot, y’know?” He winked at Cas and the librarian smiled at the try for humorous deflection. “Smart, beautiful, and she didn’t give a shit that I drank all the time because she did way worse. Amara gave me every excuse in the book: we didn’t have a problem, we just liked to have fun, people just didn’t get us, we didn’t need anyone but one another, classic enabler stuff. The dealership was turning around and she held down a great job as a pharma rep so what was the harm in what we did in our down time, right? She looked like the perfect girlfriend, I even brought her around the house…” He shivered. “But, man… She was just like my Dad. Molding me into what she wanted, just in different ways. It started slow - offering another drink when I said I’d had enough, whining to stay out another hour, telling me she didn’t like it when I went out larping without her, but she didn’t want to go, or that if people actually wanted to talk to me they’d just try harder... till one day I realized I hadn’t talked to Charlie for like a month. Or Sam. I was just this shell. I didn’t do anything I liked, didn’t talk to anyone but her, and any time I had a feeling about anything I just reached for a bottle. It… I… yeah, breaking up with her was fun. Proooootracted.” He wrinkled his nose at Castiel. “She left a dead rabbit on top of Baby the week before she moved. I guess it was, like, one last act of vengeance or something?”

 

Cas took a moment, then gaped. “Wait,  _ what _ ? A Dead Rabbit?!? _ Oh My God _ !” The horrified look on his boyfriend’s face made Dean chuckle and pop a piece of his demolished cinnamon roll into his mouth.

 

“Well, to be fair, it was from the butcher’s. It’s not like she went out into the woods something,” he stated plainly through his mouthful. “Still gross though.”

 

Cas frowned and studied his nearly-empty coffee mug like the swirls offered the secrets of the universe. Dean held his breath as he prepared for whatever came out of the other man’s mouth. Cas pursed his lips and looked up.

 

“Wait, so how long have you been a tattoo artist?” He asked seriously.

 

Dean couldn’t stop the gleeful, slightly hysterical twitter that left his mouth at that. “Really, Cas?  _ That _ ’s your only question?”

 

Castiel nodded. 

 

“Yeah, okay. Sure!” Dean threw up his hands in surrender, but it felt like he was throwing off a fifty pound weight. “Benny offered the internship about, uhhhh…. A little over two years ago.” He huffed. “My taking an unpaid internship for six months was actually the last fight me’n Amara had before we called it quits. I told her I wanted to be happy and art made me happy. She didn’t get why I’d turn over the whole dealership to Bobby when I could make so much more money there… she just…”

 

“Didn’t get it?” Cas supplied hesitantly.

 

“Yeah.” Dean shoved the rest of his food in his mouth and Cas stood to grab plates. “So that’s it? Seriously? I commit verbal seppuku all over your table at ass o’clock in the morning and you’re just whatever about it?” He eyed the librarian skeptically. “I’m thirty-one and have pretty much ruined every relationship I’ve ever had with another person.”

 

Cas scoffed so loudly he could be heard from his stance at the sink. “ Tu belle itiote... Yes, Dean. And I’m thirty-five without a serious romantic entanglement since college. I hardly think our respective pasts should have much to do with our current situation.”

 

“But-”

 

“Who is New Dean?” Cas interrupted, abruptly turning from the sink. How he managed to look intimidating dressed in nothing but a blanket, boxers, and a stern look was a mystery.

 

Dean sputtered for a few seconds before studying his fingernails carefully. “I am. Or, I try to be.” He sighed in frustration. “It’s hard to explain. Charlie said, at a year sober, who did I want to be? Because I can be whoever I want now, y’know? I haven’t talked to John in like two years, the shop’s doing really well, I’m not sleeping around anymore, I’m out as bi now… kinda.” He winced at that one. “I waded through a lot of shit, like, mentally, emotionally, all that crap. Now, like, I can do whatever makes me happy. New Dean, like… bakes and doesn’t give a shit that it’s a chick thing. And listens to all the advice his Mom gave him over the years instead of the part of me that’s always trying to be John’s golden boy.” He looked up and met Cas’ eyes. “New Dean dates amazing, sexy librarians who are miles out of his league.” He gave a slight chuckle then groaned out, “And, apparently, talks about his feelings until he wants to claw his own eyes out to stop the emo leaking all over.” 

 

Cas walked over behind Dean, who had hidden his face in his hands, and draped his arms around bare shoulders over the back of the chair. Chin resting on one tattooed shoulder, he clasped one hand around Dean’s wrist and pulled it away from his face. Dean breathed deeply and pressed Castiel’s hands against his chest in a sort of half hug, resting his own head against Cas’ temple. The librarian nestled the blanket over both of their shoulders and the two of them took a moment to simply bask in the presence of the other.

 

Cas shifted before his lower back could get stiff from the angle and pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. “I like New Dean,” he stated softly against the short hair beneath his lips. He felt Dean’s breath stutter beneath their clasped hands.

 

“Is this normal?” Dean asked, hesitant and so vulnerable for that split second. “Are we crazy? This is crazy, right? We’ve known each other for two weeks.”

 

Cas burrowed into the space between Dean’s jaw and shoulder. “Do you care?” He asked, moving Dean’s hand with his own as he grasped the blanket tighter around them.

 

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. Cas felt the muscles in the artist’s shoulders relax beneath him a beat before he heard the answer. 

 

“No, Angel, I really don’t.” The smile was evident in his voice. 

 

Cas closed his eyes and mumbled against Dean’s neck, “Good.” He gave the torso he was draped around a solid squeeze and then stood up. “When do you have to go in today?”

 

Dean made a sour face at the reminder of real-world responsibilities. “Eh, probably shouldn’t push it past eleven. I close tonight, though. But I want to see you tomorrow… can we-”

 

Cas grabbed Dean’s hand and started walking backwards, pulling him easily out of his chair. “Come back to bed with me and we’ll figure out tomorrow,” he said.

 

“But the kitchen-”

 

“You made me an amazing breakfast and I have taken the day off. The least I can do is load my own dishwasher,” Cas countered, still pulling Dean lightly down the hall to the bedroom. “Now come back to bed with me.”

 

The light from the previously-cursed blinds danced beautifully over his boyfriend’s multi-colored torso as he stood, unsure, next to the mattress. 

 

“I dunno, Cas. I’m not sure I’m gonna fall asleep again…”

 

Cas flopped down on the bed and looked up at Dean expectantly. “Who said anything about sleeping?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow, then held out a hand, wiggling his fingers at Dean. “ Éla edó, ómorfos.”

 

Dean’s face split into a toothy grin and he grabbed Castiel’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled onto the bed and into a tangle of covers and warm skin.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 


	9. First... well, you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided this story's staying solidly T. Certain young ears and whatnot. :-)
> 
> If I get enough requests, I might do timestamps. But this one's gonna be all classy and shit and do the ol' fade-in, fade-out instead of gratuitous smut. Kay? Cool. 
> 
> Here, have a chapter!! :-)

“......... wow.”

 

Cas snickered a slightly hysterical laugh and flopped onto the pillow to stretch out next to where Dean was sprawled on his back, trying to get his eyes to focus on the ceiling and catching his breath.

 

“That’s it? Wow?”

 

“What can I say? Maybe you really are an incubus, I’m pretty sure you just sucked out my soul.”

 

“Mmm, I am good at what I do,” Castiel intoned with a self-satisfied smile. “You weren’t bad yourself, padouan.”

 

Dean looked at Cas with feigned shock. “Holy shit, Cas, was that a Star Wars reference?” He got a gummy smile in reply.

 

“Well, you seemed so scandalized I’d never seen it before… I did some research. And hey!” He pointed to the skin above Dean’s left elbow, referring to the rebel and empire emblems on his arms. “Now I know what these are!”

 

Dean rolled over on top of Cas and rested his chin on the man’s sternum. “I knew you were just a Star Wars nerd in the making,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes and settled comfortably. They lay like that for a quiet minute, Cas trailing fingers over the lines of Dean’s back and shoulders. Hands moving from to card through his boyfriend’s hair, Cas had a sudden thought and smiled. 

 

“So, definitely bisexual then?” He teased lightly. 

 

Dean snorted and buried his face in Castiel’s chest. “Dude, were we in the same room just now? I’m pretty sure you can figure it out.” 

 

“I did make you cry during oral sex, I had to check.”

 

“I did  _ not _ cry,” Dean complained petulantly into Cas’ chest. “I just forgot to blink cuz you were distracting… my eyes got all watery.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“Of course not, Dean,” Cas replied indulgently, fingers still lightly scratching across the head on his chest.

 

Dean growled. “I’d stomp off indignantly, but what you’re doing to my head feels too good,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and, when he spoke again, the artist’s voice had a vulnerable edge to it. “Did you, uh… Was I okay? I mean… I know I’ll get better… just-”

 

Cas moved his hand around to cup the Dean’s jaw and gently encouraged him to make eye contact. He met the other man’s wide, slightly panicky eyes with a soft, genuine smile. “You were exquisite, mon amour. You’ve ruined me for other men.” 

 

Dean snorted and crinkled up his nose, tipping his head so he could peek through his eyelashes at the man beneath him. “That’s high praise for a distracted handjob, babe, but I’ll take it.” Despite the brush-off, Cas could see his compliment had the desired effect as Dean tried to smother his blush and smile.

 

They lay there in their happy little bubble for a few minutes, Castiel nearly dozing off again with the comforting, warm weight of Dean pressing him into the mattress. Suddenly, the aforementioned weight shifted. Dean leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed his glasses, checking the time on his phone. “Gahhhhh, shit. It’s like ten fifteen.” He looked at Castiel regretfully, panning up and down the man’s body slowly and letting out a petulant whine. He sighed. “I gotta go. Benny’ll be all ‘the point of setting your own hours is to work those hours, brother’ if I don’t show on time, and I really... “ He smiled and checked out Cas again. “ _ Really  _ don’t feel like letting anything ruin this frickin’ amazing mood I got goin’ on right now.”

 

Castiel got up reluctantly and followed Dean around a bit like a lost puppy as he gathered his things and redressed. Finally, fully clothed with his blazer draped over his arm, Dean turned and wrapped his boxer-clad boyfriend in an enveloping hug. “So tomorrow’s my day off… I got dinner with my mom and I promised Sam we’d do something since he’s only in town another two weeks but... You mind if I head over this way after?” He asked it shyly, still hugging Cas so they were unable to face one another. Still, the implication that he would stay over again was not lost on the smaller man. He tightened his grip around his boyfriend's tattooed torso . 

 

“Only if you bring shower stuff,” he replied lightly. “I’m almost out of shampoo.”

 

Dean laughed and backed up, grabbing the door and taking a few steps away. “Sounds good to me, babe.” Standing in the open doorway, he took a moment to gratuitously stare at Castiel - now standing alone in the middle of the living room in nothing but his underwear and bedhead. Cas gave him a calculating look and Dean responded with a cheeky wink. 

 

“What? I'm taking a mental picture for the road.” He arched an eyebrow and lowered his voice to a gruff rumble. “Gotta have something to keep me warm tonight, huh?”

 

Cas threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “It's August, you ass. Go on, get to work,” he waved him off, turning back towards the bedroom. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Lookin’ forward to it, “ Dean called back with a grin as he shut the door. 

  
  
  
  


Castiel had barely begun tackling the explosion of dishes in the kitchen when he heard the knock on his door. He smiled as he went to open it again.

 

“Miss me alread- GABRIEL!” 

 

Castiel nearly slammed the door in his brother’s face in his attempt to hide behind it. 

 

Gabriel, for his part, burst into a fit of laughter so exuberant he ended up sitting on the floor of the hallway holding his aching sides. Cas glowered down at him from his position peering around his door. 

 

“It’s not  _ that _ funny, Gabe… 

 

Gabe stoppit.” 

 

His brother did not stop. 

 

“Stop it Gabriel!”

 

Gabe gestured vaguely, still laughing. “You- Your face! You…And the- I can’t- I can’t… Oh my god, I’m gunna die.” 

 

Still giggling, but obviously at least trying to get himself together, Gabe started to rise from the floor and Castiel abandoned his brother in the hallway to get some clothes on. He heard the front door close as he pulled on some sweatpants and took a look at himself in the mirror. Oh god, no wonder Gabe had gotten such a laugh. Hair even more askew than usual, his torso was tastefully dotted with several hickies and there was even a bite mark above his left hip bone. He looked well and truly ravished. So… okay, in context, he could forgive his brother for the outburst. Jesus, he was never going to live this down…

 

“Cassie, dude. You have no idea how much I needed that, thank you!” Gabriel called from the hall as Cas pulled on an old “Pleez the Beez” tshirt.

 

“My pleasure,” Castiel replied dryly as he left his room.

 

“Ohhh, I’m  _ sure _ it was,” Gabe replied lasciviously. Cas couldn’t see his face, but he could practically hear his brothers eyebrows bouncing up and down suggestively. Following the sound of running water, Cas found his brother standing at the kitchen sink working on some of the breakfast dishes. Dressed in blue jeans and a neon green Lokikery t-shirt, Castiel sometimes wondered if his big brother picked those bright colors for the uniforms because he was otherwise all the same color. Gabriel was all shaggy blonde hair and tannish-white skin and weirdly light brown eyes, much like a golden retriever. Much unlike himself, however, Gabriel was currently focused on his task and seemingly disinterested in Castiel’s attention. The librarian crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, waiting for his brother to look up.

 

He didn’t.

 

“Gabe, what exactly led you to drop in on me at my apartment on a Saturday?” He studied his brother, elbow deep in dishwater and studiously scrubbing at the muffin tin. “To do dishes?”

 

Gabe threw a disarming smile his way. “What, I can’t wonder what my favorite little bro’s up to on the weekend?”

 

“I’m at work, usually. Which brings up another question-”

 

“Oh, I stopped by the library for lunch with you. Charlie said you were sick, Bal said you were hungover.” He winked at his brother. “I believed Balthazar.”

 

Cas rolled his eyes. “Which brings me back to my original question. Why did you decide to surprise me for lunch… without lunch?”

 

Gabe scrubbed at the muffin tin a little harder. “Geez, Cassie? Did you try to make muffins with  _ carrots _ in them? How very creative of you! I didn’t know you were into baking. Trying to emulate your awesome sibling? I know, I know, I’m awesome, but-”

 

“Gabe!” Cas slammed his hand on the counter next to the sink. Gabriel started terribly then slumped. 

 

“James called me this morning.” He sighed deeply and the happy mask slid off. “Well… morning for me. He probably set an alarm for the middle of the night…” He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and drifted over to the kettle on the stove, beginning to boil water. Gabe always was a tea-drinker when he was stressed.

 

“James who?” Castiel just stood in the kitchen, heartbeat suddenly kicking up a notch. “Not…”

 

“Jimmy? Your brother? Yeah… that James.”

 

Castiel scowled. “He’s not my brother.  _ You  _ are, he’s not.” Gabe scoffed at that.

 

“Cassie, we share a dad. You two shared a womb. He’s your brother, like it or not. And his family’s your family.” He sighed mightily and stared at the teakettle. “He called last night. He needs our help. Well, specifically, he needs your help.” He ended there and scowled at the teakettle.

 

Castiel was starting to panic. He hadn’t really gotten past the whole His Twin Brother Knew How To Contact Them thing.

 

“Wait… he, he called you? Like… on the phone? How did he find your number? Does he know where we are? They know??” He took a shuddering breath, blinking hard to get himself under control, but he just couldn’t get his heartrate down. ( _ In-one-two….out-one, in, out, in, in, no, that’s wrong _ )  “Do they… oh my god, are they coming to- to” God, he was shaking. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and his head felt fuzzy. He fought for control but he couldn’t ( _ in, out, in, out, too fast, too fast) _ couldn’t… breathe. 

 

Gabe realized belatedly his own discomfort with the subject had accidentally sent his brother’s anxiety into overdrive and rushed over, putting his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and looking him straight into his wide eyes.

 

“Cassie? Cassie, look at me.”

 

Castiel gasped like a fish out of water and clung to Gabriel’s elbows like lifelines. “Cassie? Breathe, Castiel.  Nobody knows anything, okay? Nobody’s going anywhere. Can you breathe in for me? Okay?” Castiel nodded and closed his eyes, fighting a panic attack and listening to his brother’s voice. “Okay, In, one, two, three- kay, almost. Try again. Out, now in. One, two, three, four, five, good! Out… two, three, four, five. Okay, awesome.” He wrapped his little brother in a hug and Cas returned it gratefully. “Jesus, I forgot how much they fucked you up.”

 

Castiel managed a weak laugh into his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah, I pass pretty well, don’t I?” He sighed. “It’s not your fault. They never got their claws into you again. You were never  _ cleansed _ .” He shuddered and gripped Gabriel tighter for a moment before stepping back and slowly heading over to take a seat on his couch. Things were quiet in the apartment as Gabriel got together two cups of tea and headed out to sit next to his brother. He handed Castiel a bright blue mug. The blue-eyed man took a sip and made a face. “Ugh, Gabe! What-”

 

Gabriel looked guiltily at his own mug and thrust it at Castiel. “Sorry! Sorry… I think I switched mugs. That’s mine.”

 

“Damn well better be, how do you still have all your teeth?” Cas grabbed Gabriel’s orange cup and sipped a  _ far  _ more savory tea, smacking his tongue against the cottony feeling too much honey had left in his mouth. “That’s better. Now.” He pinned his brother to the couch with an intense look. “What is going on. Tell me everything. Right now.”

 

Gabe sighed, a put-upon look sliding through his features again for a moment. “It’s our Paululum Avem.”

 

Despite his best efforts, Castiel was unable to keep the look of concern from flashing across his face. “Claire?”

 

Gabe nodded. “She’s eighteen this year.”

 

Castiel knew. Of course he knew. Twelve years and he’d had her birthday written down in his calendar every single year. He’d loved that little girl so much. “Is she?” He thought he sounded surprised enough to pass for not knowing. Another sigh from Gabriel.

 

“Yeah. And, according to Jimmy, she’s gotten herself into a spot of bother - as Bal would say. He was awful scant on the details, but I don’t suppose it matters. It’ll get her shunned, he said. Or worse.”

 

“Ugh, it could be anything,” Cas mumbled. He drummed his fingers on his teacup. “So what does this have to do with us?” He leveled a look at Gabriel. “Nobody knows where we are except Anna. If Claire’s in trouble and doesn’t want to go on Mission, fine! Tell her to get early admission into college like I did, it’s how I got out of it.” Gabe studied his tea carefully. “Gabe… nobody knows where we are except Anna… right?”

 

Gabe squinched up his face like he had sucked on a lemon. “Soooo….. Little Bird needed to fly, so she’s coming here. That’s it, that’s the news. That’s the suck and the awesome and the big old convoluted mess I’ve gotten us into, kay?”

 

“WHAT!”

 

“Listen, listen, listen,” Gabe pleaded, trying to placate Cas by petting his forearm. Castiel was having  _ none _ of it.

 

“No,  _ you  _ listen, Gabriel! How could you? How  _ could _ you?! We’ve been here for nearly a decade. We’ve built  _ lives _ here! And you… you… How can you trust him? Why?! They’ve left us alone, but that doesn’t mean they  _ will _ if we meddle in their affairs!”

 

Gabe grabbed Castiel’s hand to get him to stop gesticulating and focus. “Jimmy talked to Anna first, Cassie. Made arrangements with her to make it look like Paululum Avem’s staying in Morocco for the rest of the year. Then he asked her how to contact us. Specifically, how to contact  _ you _ . She won’t be here until after Christmas, so we’ve got some time to figure out the specifics. She’ll be here ‘till the end of the school year. I figure, the way Jimmy was being so evasive about details? Calling in the middle of the night? Something isn’t right and I think that something might be Dear Old Dad.” The accompanying smile came out more like a grimace.

 

Cas sat back against the couch. “Oh no.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

There was a reason there were so many half-siblings in the Garrison. Their father enjoyed certain liberties talked about in the Old Testament that were considered rather distasteful to the rest of the world. If he’d set his sights on taking another wife, or maybe if he’d decided to start matchmaking... No wonder Jimmy was desperate to get her away for a while.

 

“Ohhh, Paululum Avem. What have you gotten yourself into?” Castiel asked his tea.

 

Gabe was quiet for a moment, then popped up like they hadn’t been talking about their creepy warrior-cult-leader Dad perving on one of his own grandchildren. “Yeah, but hey! We don’t know for sure, right? Could be she just shoplifted some lipstick and Jimmy’s waiting for everything to blow over. Plus, according to Brother Dearest, she won’t opt for the whole being shunned by the community thing. Not yet, anyway.”

 

Cas frowned. “Not yet?”

 

Gabriel leveled a stare at him. “Not yet. Wanna know where they’re sending God’s newest recruits this year?”

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

Gabe plastered on his best manic smile and started gesticulating like a carnival barker. “Sunny, sunny Damascus! Can you believe it folks? The trip of a lifetime!! Kill the rebel infidels  _ and _ tour the ruins of one of the greatest cities of the world. It’s like looking at Rome in fast forward!”

 

“Gabriel! That’s awful!” Cas reeled. “It’s not like they’re spies. There’s not even a Garrison there. God… What, are they just being sent in to, to, to tell the rebels there, ‘Oh, hello! We’re white children from America on a new Crusade!’ I mean, we were trained, but not for active combat! It could be slaughter…” A sudden flash of white hot anger burned through him. “Don’t they read the Goddamn News?! It’s the fucking Africa mission all over again!”

 

“Yes, Castiel. It really is,” Gabriel finished seriously. “Which is why I’ll do whatever we need to get her away from there. Maybe, if she stays with us for a while - sees what the world is really like - maybe she won’t think being shunned is that bad.” He shrugged and they were both quiet for a moment, contemplating.

 

Then he clapped his hands and drained the last of his tea, smacking his lips. “So! You wanna tell me why it looks like my bakery exploded in your kitchen? Or how you got that  _ exquisitely _ placed hickey I have had so, so, SO much trouble not teasing you about while we talked about Very Important Things? Because I’m about to just make up a story, and I’m pretty sure it won’t measure up.”

 

Castiel looked at his brother in horror and slapped his hand to the side of his neck. Gabe snickered and nabbed his brother’s cup, heading back to the kitchen. “Other side,” he called out. Castiel groaned. 

 

“No,” he responded petulantly. “I was having a lovely morning and you ruined it. You don’t get to bask in my second-hand happiness.”

 

Gabe popped his head around the corner with an exaggerated frown. “Aww, was Tattoo Magoo not up to snuff in the bedroom department?” He asked patronizingly.

 

“Are you  _ kidding _ ? He was -,” Castiel caught himself, stuttering. “That, That’s  _ none _ of your  _ business _ Gabe!”

 

The shit-eating grin his brother gave him was answer enough. “Ahh, so it  _ was _ the mysterious tattoo artist. And did tall, dark, and dreamy spend the night? Wait… is  _ he _ the one who went all Ro-sham-bo on the baked goods? What am I talking about, of course he was. You’ve never made muffins in your life. Hot damn, you’ve got a good one! Does he swallow?”

 

“GABRIEL!”

 

“It’s a valid question!” Gabe disappeared into the kitchen, still going on about Dean, probably, and Castiel heard the sink running again. He wandered in to join his brother in time to hear “- I mean, god knows you needed it. And anyone who lets baking tins soak for the person who’s going to clean them up is obviously a giving person. I’m just saying. You might want to try this one on for size, y’know?”

 

Castiel sighed. “What are you mumbling on about?”

 

Gabriel very specifically did not make eye contact when he answered. “I just know how you get about  _ people  _ and  _ relationships _ and I want you to know that I think it’s great you’re back on the horse, okay? I like that you like him. Don’t do that thing you always do where you sleep with someone then toss ‘em out, okay? What’d I hear at the bakery the other day? Ah! No pump-and-dumps.”

 

Castiel blinked for a moment. “I have to say, that is probably the most disgusting term for a one night stand I’ve ever heard.”

 

Gabe grinned. “I know, isn’t it great?” He flicked his blonde bangs out of his eyes. “But seriously, I haven’t seen you this happy with another real live person in forever.”

 

Cas opened his mouth only to be cut off by suds-covered fingers over his mouth.

 

“One, I said _real,_ _live_ , Cassie. George Cooper doesn’t count. Two, that is a children’s book for little girls. Seriously.”

 

Castiel scowled and scrubbed at his lips as the sudsy hand was pulled away. “Plech. I’ll have you know that  _ Song of the Lioness _ is an excellent choice for young girls  _ and _ boys, Gabe. Besides, while I appreciate the sentiment, I hardly think my own romantic life could benefit from your sage advice. Or have you finally gotten up the gumption to speak to that professor you are absolutely infatuated with?”

 

Gabriel bent to open the dishwasher. “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” he said far too calmly.

 

“So you’re saying the key-lime and cream cheese cake pops just become a staple in the case because they fly off the shelves? Not because they’re Professor Mittal’s favorite?”  

 

Gabe popped up so fast he nearly took himself out on the corner of the counter. “You know Kali’s last name? Do you know what she teaches?”

 

Castiel chuckled. “Ask her yourself. I see her practically every time I’m there.”

 

“No, it’s just my delicious, delicious baked goods,” Gabe lamented. “I don’t think she comes in to actually see me. My life is  _ not _ fiction.”

 

“Gabriel.” Castiel leveled a serious look at his brother. “No woman who looks like that eats cake every day because she thinks it’s good for her.” He sighed at his brother’s hopeful expression. “Okay, fine. Wait here and I’ll grab some real clothes. I’ll come with you to the bakery and hang out in the back for moral support if you give me the extra oatmeal raisin cookies. I never actually ate lunch, thank you for that.”

 

Gabe hopped up and down once and clapped like an excited child. “Oh yay! You always were a weird one - oatmeal raisin. Meh… to each their own. Oh, and on the way, we can iron out details for when I’m meeting Doctor Shmexy. I think dinner some time this week, you think?”

 

Cas’ sigh was put-upon. “My boyfriend’s name is Dean, Gabriel. Not Tattoo Magoo, not Dr. Shmexy - Dean Winchester.” He turned and headed down the hall to his room, counting down in his head. 

 

“Fine, fine.”

 

_ Three _

 

“Deeeeean, I’ll call your-”

 

_ Two _

 

“Waaait a sec… Cassie....”

 

_ One _

 

“DID YOU SAY BOYFRIEND?!?”

  
Castiel smirked as he closed and locked his door and hopped into the shower in the en suite. Gabriel and his annoyingly personal questions could wait. God knew, he was in for an afternoon full of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. First Family Dinner (kinda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel comes to dinner and Dean meets his boyfriend's family for the first time.
> 
> WHEEEEEEE, FAMILY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> Sorry I missed the update last week. Teething baby + writer's block + (I won't lie - I finally got into House of Cards and it's REALLY that good) did not = a conducive writing week. But I'm back in the saddle and should hopefully get a little ahead of the game. *fingers crossed*
> 
> Happy Reading!! :-)

Dean and Castiel slipped into one another’s lives even more easily than even they could have anticipated. Work had them apart, as did family and friends, but it was as though the impromptu sleepover Friday night had worn down one of Dean’s last walls. He had slept for crap on Saturday and now, on Thursday, he’d officially caved and brought a duffel bag of clothes into Castiel’s apartment because he hadn’t slept at home once since. Cas, for his part, had given Dean one of his thousand-watt smiles when he saw his boyfriend half-heartedly hiding the bag behind his back in the doorway. He grabbed at the bag as he greeted the taller man with a quick peck, only to have Dean maneuver it out of his reach. 

 

“It’s just a couple options for tonight, man,” Dean blurted out defensively. “I don’t wanna look like a schmuck meeting your brother for the first time.” 

 

Castiel leveled him with a disbelieving stare and the artist wavered.

 

“... and maybe a toothbrush. And some shower stuff. And some underwear.” He looked at Castiel accusingly as the librarian snickered at him. “Hey! It’s not my fault you got a memory-foam bed. It remembers me! My mattress remembers everything that’s happened since 1995. I didn’t ask to get it pointed out to me that my bed’s lumpy as fuck.”

 

Cas simply kissed Dean softly, putting both hands up in surrender. “I assure you, Dean, I’m not complaining.”

 

“Kay, good,” Dean blustered, wringing the duffel bag straps in his hands. “I’m just gonna…” He gestured vaguely to the bedroom.

 

“Oh, certainly! Get changed, do whatever. Gabe should be here-”

 

He was cut off by a knock on the door behind Dean. “any minute!”

 

Dean looked like a deer in the headlights and Cas smiled warmly. “You’ll be fine. Go, take your time, get changed if you want to. Or don’t.” He winked and Dean laughed. “Shoo, come on out when you’re ready.”

 

Another knock on the door had Castiel moving to answer. “Coming, Gabe, keep your shoes on!”

 

“It’s not my shoes I’m worried about, Cassie. I’m thinking this ice cream’s gonna melt all over me!”

 

Cas answered the door and Gabe bustled in with a paper Lokikery bag and a plastic bag clutched to his chest. He headed straight for the kitchen and stuffed the entire plastic bag into the freezer. “The one time I forget my damn reusable… god I hate plastic bags, delicate fucking - Cassie!” Arms now divested of their goodies, Gabe threw them out to beckon his brother for a hug. “What’cha got goin, little bro? Smells great!! Is that, oh my god are we having chicken tacos?”

 

Cas smiled at his brother and gave him a perfunctory embrace. “Good evening, Gabe. Yes, you smell shredded chicken, since you seem to think I’m somehow magical when I make it.”

 

The blonde man was wandering around the kitchen, opening everything and sticking his hands everywhere. “Oh man, that’s awesome! I knew buying you that crock pot was a good idea. And are the - Yes! Cornnnnn tortillaaaaas.” He peeked into the oven where they were warming and did a little dance in place. Cas sighed fondly.

 

“It never ceases to amaze me how excited you get about real food. You cook all day  _ every  _ day.”

 

Gabe was still getting into everything, including the taco fixings set out on the counter. “Uh uh, Cassie-my-boy. I  _ bake _ . Totally different animal.” He stuffed some lettuce into his mouth. “Pluth, I don’ haveta cook when it’th you’n yo cwock pot.” He swallowed. “If I’d known when I gave it to you how hardcore you’d get, I’d have gotten you one back in Illinois!”

 

“So I have you to thank for the crock pot too? Geez, Cas, how much do I owe this guy and I haven't even met him?” Dean’s low, friendly voice preceded his charming, people-person smile into the kitchen. “Dean Winchester. I’m guessing you’re Gabriel Novak?” Castiel could see the tremors of nervous energy around the edges of his words as he extended his hand to shake, but to the casual observer Dean was in full-on customer-service mode. Gabe shook Dean’s hand easily, looking the other man up and down critically. 

 

“Yup. Call me Gabe, please. People only call me Gabriel when I’m in trouble.” He grinned and Dean was certain he could see something steely behind that jovial demeanor. He didn't have more than a moment to notice, however. The blonde man turned and addressed Castiel over his shoulder. “Does he always look like this? Because christ on a cracker, Cassie. At least you’ve finally stopped dating down.”

 

Cas flushed and slapped his brother’s shoulder. “Gabriel!”

 

Gabe winked at Dean. “See?”

 

Dean couldn’t help but huff a laugh at that. He looked down at himself, all clean, dark jeans and a plain black tshirt with the weird amulet thing Sam had gotten him thrown on for luck. “Well, to be fair, I did change after work. I’m usually, well, I’m not-”

 

Cas sighed loudly. “He doesn’t see it, Gabe. I don’t understand it, don’t even try. I’ve resolved myself to convincing him through repetition.”

 

Now it was Dean’s turn to flush red and pull uncomfortably at the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, okay. I’ll believe you in t-minus like twenty years. Then I'll be all old and still won't believe you. Sound like a plan?” 

 

“I can pencil you in,” replied Castiel with a smirk. Dean huffed like Cas had paid him a compliment and the two of them made eye contact for a long beat.

  
  
  


Gabe looked at his brother, then to this new Dean Winchester, then back to his brother. They were looking at one another like they were the only people in the universe, let alone the room. Which was all well and good and he was happy for them and everything but his stomach was starting to grumble and they still weren’t moving.

 

Gabe clapped once. “TACOS!!” He said loudly and deliberately, grinning at how both other men jumped. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sorry, bunnies. I’ve been promised tacos and I’m not leaving until tacos.” He gesticulated to the brown Lokikery bag on the counter. “There is, of course, also pie. Which I could take back with me, but-”

 

“Wait, you brought more pie?” Any awkwardness was forgotten in the eldest Winchester’s enthusiasm for dessert and with that, any tension in the room dropped out and dinner got started. 

  
  


*****************************************************

 

Chicken was shredded and tacos were assembled and the three men were soon comparing eating strategies and topping-architecture with the same fervor some might reserve for a political debate. 

 

“No, man, the guacamole goes on the bottom to keep it all together!”

 

“What, are you crazy? Cassie, your gorgeous boyfriend is a crazy person.”

 

“I’m not either, how do  _ you _ keep the taco together.”

 

“With my  _ fingers _ like a  _ Homo sapien _ , you gorilla. Your tortilla’s gonna get all soggy!”

 

“It’s not - Cas, back me up on this.”

 

“I would, Dean, but it appears your guacamole has split your taco…”

 

“No it hasn’t, it’s just-” Dean’s taco disintegrated rather completely onto his plate. “Shit.” All three men laughed at his misfortune and the artist rapped his knuckles on the table. “All right, this  _ gorilla _ is gonna go get a fork. Anyone else?”

 

“Sorry, Dean. Looks like you’re the only one who decided to stack your taco incorrectly,” Cas countered coolly. Dean, for his part, put his hand over his heart dramatically.

 

“Oh, Cas! You’re killin’ me here!”

 

“No, I believe that’s you killing your tacos.”

 

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, babe,” was Dean’s cocky response, which only succeeded in making Castiel laugh.

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

“Oh, you’ll know,” Dean replied jokingly. He leaned on the back of Castiel’s chair and pressed a lightning quick kiss just under the librarian’s ear before heading to the kitchen. “Gabe? Anything?”

 

“Naw, I’m good. Thanks,” Gabe replied. He gave his brother a meaningful look. Cas turned from watching Dean retreat and met his brother’s raised eyebrows.

 

“What?”

 

“Jy regtig omgee vir hom.” ( _ You really care for him _ )

 

Cas sighed. “Yes, I do.”

 

Emotions Cas hadn’t seen cross his brother’s face for a very long time flickered by before his older brother laid a comforting hand on his forearm.

 

“Hoeveel het jy hom vertel?” He asked quietly.

_ (How much have you told him?) _

 

Cas shrugged. “Nie veel nie.”

_ (Not much) _

 

“Dit is veilig hier. Jy kan, as jy dink hy sou- ” Cas cut him off with an abrupt, sad headshake.

_ (It’s safe here. You can, if you think he’d-) _

 

“Maar wat van Palalum Avum en…”

_ (But what about Claire and...) _

 

“Helpende Jimmy nie tweede kom om jou geluk. As ek geweet het, het ek nooit sou hê…” 

_ (Helping Jimmy doesn’t have to come second to your happiness. If I had known, I never would have...) _

Gabe cut himself off and sighed, knowing their hushed exchange didn’t have time for shoulda-woulda-coulda’s and smiled. “Ek hou van hom.”

_ (I like him) _

 

Cas smiled back. “Me too.”

 

“Hey! None-a that. Rainman over here’s bad enough, I don’t know if I can manage being the only…” Dean pondered as he sat down and skewered some of his mess of a taco with a fork. “What’s it called when someone only speaks one language? Monoglot?”

 

“I think it’s called public-school,” Gabe replied seriously before stuffing his face with another half a taco. He grinned at his brother with a mouth full.

 

“Ew, God, Gabe! Why?” Cas tried to stifle a giggle and looked determinedly at Dean. “Ignore him, attention only makes him worse.”

 

“I’th TWUUUUUUE!” Came Gabriel’s sing-sing response as they all resumed their meal. 

 

*************************************

 

They managed to get through dinner and all the way to dessert without Gabriel causing any real damage. All three men were having a far better time than any of them had expected. The Lokikery cherry pie was re-warmed in the oven by a vote of two-to-three.

(“Really, Cassie, pie a la mode should be warm if  _ at all _ possible. Even Dean-o agrees, right Dean-o?”

“Don’t call me that. But yes.”)

Cas had broken out his “fancy-shmancy coffee machine”, as Dean had dubbed it, and the trio were currently sitting in Castiel’s living room finishing their fancy coffee and cherry pie with chocolate ice cream. Dean was pretty sure this was one of his new favorite things to do. He leaned lazily against his boyfriend and licked his spoon. “Dude, who needs a bar?  _ This _ is the  _ shit _ right here.”

 

Gabe huffed a laugh, digging into his second piece of pie already. “Not a big partier, are we?” He arched an eyebrow. “Not that I’m judging. The Big Brother in me is appeased by the idea my brother’s chosen paramour isn’t likely to drag him out to shit where he’s uncomfortable.”

 

Dean laughed. “Naw, definitely not my scene anymore. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t given me the Big Brother Talk by now. All you’ve done is call me annoying nicknames and give me delicious pie. Which is pretty tame, really…”

 

“Heh, yeah…,” Gabe muttered happily. He pointed his spoon at Dean purposefully. “Tattoo Magoo is  _ not _ going away, bee-tee-dubs. I’m pretty proud of that one.” He began eating again. “Besides, why should I threaten you with a beat-down if you do anything to bruise Cassie’s peach of a heart? Something tells me you’d beat yourself up about it more than I could. Plus he could kill you with a pencil, I’ve seen it. Not you, obviously. But with an ex? Much more satisfaction that way… plus you’re way bigger than me.”

 

Dean laughed. “Hah, well can’t argue with that.” Cas had stiffened against Dean’s side. The artist’s eyebrows quirked in concern. “Cas? You ok?”

 

“Yes, yes.” Castiel cleared his throat and grabbed his coffee mug. “Anyone want more coffee?”

 

Gabe waved him off with a mouth full of pie, but Dean grabbed his plate and cup, following the librarian into the kitchen. It was hardly private, but Dean took the opportunity to sidle up behind his boyfriend at the coffee machine. Wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist and putting his chin on the man’s shoulder, he gave a tight squeeze.

 

“You okay?”

 

The older man sighed and continued making coffee. “Of course. Why would you think -”

 

“Cas. I know a tactical retreat when I see one. What was it?”

 

Castiel slumped against Dean’s solid form behind him, dark hair tickling Dean’s temple. “I was… I’ve been… I don’t like being reminded that my reflexes are fast enough to catch a falling knife without cutting myself because I was essentially a weapon until I was an adult. Gabe… he deals with it differently.”

 

Dean huffed a little laugh. “I thought I saw a little shark behind the kid-on-a-sugar-high act,” he mumbled into Cas’ ear. It tickled and made him smile.

 

“Shark?”

 

“Yeah, you know. That dead-eyed, calculating, logical look sharks have. Benny gets like that sometimes, when I ask him about the Marines.”

 

Cas twisted around in Dean’s hold and looked him straight in the face. “Am… am I a, a shark? Do I get like that?”

 

Dean rubbed his nose against Castiel’s and pushed a hand through his boyfriend’s unruly hair. He smiled one of those smiles Cas was beginning to realize nobody saw but him. “No, baby. I haven’t seen a shark in you yet. A hurricane, maybe. Or a thunderstorm.” He ran a light thumb over the ridge of Castiel’s cheekbone, then moved to touch the pinched space between his eyebrows. “You wear it all on your face, even when you try not to. Like me.” He smiled. “Every thought you have shows up here. I just have to figure out what they are.” He trailed his thumb back over Castiel’s eyebrow and down to the bolt of his jaw. “I haven’t gotten the whole vocabulary yet, but I’ll tell you a secret.” Dean leaned in and whispered into the shell of Cas’ ear. “I’m a dedicated student when I want to be.” The warm air breezing past his ear and neck sent shivers rocketing down Castiel’s spine and he arched his neck towards Dean in what was either a gesture to stop or a hint to keep going - he wasn’t sure quite which it was himself. Unfortunately, Gabe’s voice from the couch chose that moment to cut into their little bubble. 

 

“Hey, I want another piece of pie! Is it safe in there, or have clothes begun to disappear?”

 

Dean sighed. “We’re decent, ya moment-killer. Come in here and get your stupid pie.” He took a step back and Castiel continued with his original task of coffee-making.

 

Gabe peeked around the wall into the kitchen and made an exaggerated gesture of relief. Cas put together his freshly brewed cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, staring silently and serenely at his brother. It took approximately seven seconds for Gabe to feel his brother’s telltale gaze burning into the back of his head. He looked up. 

 

“What?”

 

“You have until I finish this cup of coffee, dearest brother. This has been an excellent visit.” He took a sip from his mug. “I am genuinely pleased you and Dean get along as well as you do.” Another sip. 

 

The two brothers stared at one another intently from opposite sides of the kitchen. In the silence, Dean wondered if he and Cas did that when other people were around. Finally, Cas simply raised his eyebrow. “Mardi gras 2008, Gabriel.  Soortgelyke, maar meer hane .” Another sip. 

 

The reaction from his brother was immediate. Gabe straightened immediately and started gathering his things. “Cassie, it has been  _ such  _ a great night, seriously. We should do this again really soon.” He stuck his hand out at Dean and surreptitiously snuck a look at Castiel’s coffee mug as he took another sip. Dean shook the proffered hand warmly. “Seriously, Dean-o, don’t be a stranger.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, you either, man,” Dean found himself replying. More surprising, he found he meant it.  

 

“Oh, I’ll be around, don’t worry.” He winked at Dean. “Have a  _ very _ good night.”

 

Gabe hustled out, Dean closing and locking the door behind him with a wave. He wandered back into the kitchen, where Castiel was still leaning against the counter with his coffee mug. 

 

“Dude, what’d you say to him?” Dean asked with a slightly awed tone. Castiel simply drained the last of his coffee and delicately placed it on the counter next to him. 

 

“Oh, I reminded my dear brother of a particular incident involving a shared hotel room and… what did he say? He ‘climbed her like a tree’ I think is what he said later. Gabe has always had a thing for particularly tall women.” Cas pushed lazily off the counter and pinned Dean with a stare. Dean swallowed self-consciously. 

 

“So, ah… what about that had him… uh”

 

Cas raised an eyebrow skeptically and took another step towards Dean.

 

“Oh. Ohhh….” The artist’s eyes widened a little in understanding. A small smile pulled at the side of his mouth. Cas grabbed his necklace and pulled him slowly forward. “I’m - I’m the tree, aren’t I?”

 

Castiel smiled broadly and brought his face within millimeters of where he held Dean’s. “Eventually,” he mumbled. He laid a few lazy, wet kisses against the side of his boyfriend’s neck. “In the meantime, however,” he added between nips, “I believe you have some studying to do.”

 

Dean grinned and pulled away. “Oh  _ hell _ yeah,” he responded and surged forward to pin Castiel between himself and the kitchen counter in a blistering makeout session. 

  
  
Needless to say, Dean studied up on all sorts of Castiel’s expressions that evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. The Man Who Came to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean insists on Cas meeting the family
> 
> He just forgets to mention one... minor... detail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stealthily adds chapter in the middle of the night*

“Okay, I’ll turn around and find State Road 115, then it’s a… a left?”

 

“Jesus, Cas, I’m texting you my address. Just look it up on google maps, would you? We live in the boonies, not in the Amazon.”

 

Cas puffed indignantly on the other end of the line. “Well pardon me for attempting to be thorough! I wasn’t sure what the reception was going to be like out here. I wanted to be prepared.”

 

“Yeah, well prepared would be thinking about your fricking mapquest directions before deciding to enjoy the weather, man, and not letting them blow out the window.” He laughed at the sputtering response he got, but cut off the librarian before he could get himself too worked up. “Don’t worry, it’s not exactly formal. Get here when you get here, you’re not that lost. Call me if you need me, okay?”

 

Cas sighed distractedly and the sound of wind whooshing around the inside of the car indicated the librarian had given up. “Is that a standing offer? I seem to need you more and more nowadays- You know, I started this summer as a perfectly self-sufficient, independent, batchelor, Sir. This is most inconvenient.” The scolding tone Castiel had adopted made Dean smile.

 

“Okay, grumpy. I dare you to call me inconvenient next time I’m wrist de- SAM! Hi. What?”

 

Sam had, of course, chosen that exact moment to pop his head out of the screen door and scare the shit out of the tattoo artist sitting on the porch swing. 

 

“Hey, so Mom says to tell you it’s ok Cas is lost and just let us know when she’s close and we’ll get everything going.” 

 

Distracted by tinny laughter through the phone, Dean tried to process what he thought he’d just heard. “Yeah...yeah, ok. We- uh.. I will.” Sam turned and ducked back into the house too quickly with a “cool” and Dean turned back to his phone. “Haah haah, yeah, yuck it up, man. I’ll see you when you get here. I’ve gotta, uh… check on something.” His tone softened incrementally and he would hate himself for it if he was anybody observing. “Drive safe, okay?”

 

“Of course, Dean. I will see you… in approximately ten minutes if the maps app is to be believed. A bientot.”

  
  


    Dean hung up the phone and stood there on the porch for a moment trying,  _ really trying _ , to replay Sam’s words to him in exact detail. Trying to remember Sam acknowledging remembering meeting Cas at the shop. 

 

And coming up empty.   
  
Oh.

 

Oh Jesus.

 

Oh. No.

  
  


They think Cas is a girl.

 

fuck Fuck FUCK  _ FUCK _

 

Had he really never used ‘him’? ‘He’? Only ever ‘they’ or ‘Cas’? Maybe he had and Sam had just thought he’d misheard. Oh god, oh no. And then the next thought -  _ does Mom think I’m bringing a girlfriend- _   
  


Dean was bolting through the screen door and down the hallway towards the kitchen before he’d finished the thought, but was intercepted by his sasquatch of a brother. Well, he needed to talk to both of them, he supposed. He plastered his best ‘everything’s fine and totally normal’ smile as Sam walked up with purpose.

 

“Hey Sammy! Listen, I gotta talk to you and Mom real quick-”

 

Sam leveled one of his best bitchfaces at his brother. “Dean, I swear, if this is to tell us about how this Cas girl isn’t that important or this isn’t a big deal or whatever, I’m not hearing it. I want to tell you how happy I am for you. We both are! Seriously. I mean, we’ll be cool and everything, but you can’t deny this  _ is  _ a  _ big deal _ . She’s the first person you’ve brought home since  _ Amara _ for god’s sake-”   
  
“No, Sammy,” Dean tried to break through what was obviously… well, not a  _ prepared  _ speech necessarily, but his stupid, brainiac brother obviously had some points he wanted to touch on. “That’s not-”

 

“It’s not what, Dean? This girl has you wrapped around her  _ finger _ , man, and that’s  _ awesome _ !” Sam smiled. “I mean, you’re so happy, Dean. And you’re sober and you made sure I met her before I left for school again and I just… I can’t let you diminish this.”   
  
Dean pointed at his brother indignantly. “Hey, listen, it’s a honeymoon period! I’m not wrapped around anyone’s finger… really… much… anyway” he waved dismissively. “Seriously, Sammy, I  _ need _ to talk to you. Have I, uh… told you that sometimes, maybe, I look at… uh… other… I check out people who might not be normal - no that’s not, uh… shit. Normal for me, I mean? Or, uh… what you might think-”   
  


Sammy tutted and shook his head. “Dean! Are you seriously trying to undermine your relationship to me right now? Are you that weird about it? No. You know what? No. I’m not letting you do this to yourself.” And with that, Samuel Winchester raised both his sasquatch hands, put his fingers in his ears, and started humming the freaking  _ Star Spangled Banner _ as loud as he could manage. 

 

Yup. JUST as infuriating now as it was at twelve.

 

A switch flipped and Dean immediately started hanging on his enormous little brother’s arms, trying to wrench them away from his stupid head because he was, apparently, also still twelve. “Stop it, Sammy! Listen, this is importan-SAMMY. Seriously! Come ON!” And then he jumped on his brother’s back, because he was a mature, fully-grown man who had something very important and serious to tell his brother.

 

“Ow, Dean! STOP!”

 

“Listen to me, you sonofa-”   
  
“Stop pulling my hair!”

 

“Stop plugging your EARS!”

 

“I’ll rip out that stupid lip ring!”

 

“You’ll be pullin’ back stub-fingers!”

 

“Get off!”

 

“Make Me!!”

 

Then Sam forcefully backed his older brother into the hallway wall.

 

“OW! Fucking Ow! All right, Andre the Giant!”

 

“Get! Off! Dean!” Sam shouted, bumping his brother against the wall again.

 

“Only if you come talk to mom with me,” Dean conceded peevishly - if a little breathlessly.

 

“Fine,” Sam agreed with an annoyed huff. Dean’s feet hit the ground and he patted his brother’s arms, slightly impressed.

 

“Talk to me about what?” Mary Winchester approached her sons with an unamused expression on her face. Both boys looked bashfully at their feet, caught out in their wrestling. Sam decided to pipe up first.

 

“Dean wants to talk about how we shouldn’t make a big deal out of this girl.”

 

Dean scrubbed his face roughly with his hands. “Godammit, Sammy, would you just  _ listen _ ?” It started as a frustrated mumble but ended with angry heat nobody was expecting. Both Sam and Mary looked taken aback. Mary took a step forward and put gentle hands on her oldest son’s shoulders, rubbing up and down in an unconscious effort to calm. 

 

“What is it, Sweetie? If you don’t want us to make a big deal out of her-”

 

Dean interrupted with a rueful, self-depreciating laugh. “Make as big a deal out of it as you want, Cas is amazing. B-But that’s the thing. Cas isn’t my girlfriend.” He took a deep breath and let it out, making sure to meet his mother’s concerned eyes. “Cas is a -”

 

Sam interrupted. “Hey, who’s that guy in the driveway?” 

 

His little brother had apparently lost the thread of the conversation. 

 

As Sam moved to the front door to meet their (theoretically) unexpected visitor, Dean just stared like a deer in the headlights at his mother. He watched as she followed Sam’s gaze out the window to the dark-haired man in a dark brown waistcoat emerging from a tan-colored Continental. He watched as she looked back to his face, eyebrows knit in confusion. He saw her watch him swallow audibly around the unexpected lump in his throat, his jaw working but no sound coming out. And he saw as her eyes widened in realization and she slowly (so slowly, oh my god, this was torture) smiled. “Oh… oh honey,” she breathed, and all Dean could manage was a half-broken smile and a one-shouldered shrug.

 

“Surpriiise?” he sing-songed horsley, and Mary wrapped him in a solid, perfunctory hug before releasing him and hurrying towards the door. She looked back with a beatific smile beaconed Dean with her head. 

 

“Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s interrupt this before it gets awkward, shall we?”

 

Dean jumped like he’d been bitten and hurried after his mom to intercept Castiel before Sam made too much of an ass out of any of them. 

  
  


************************************************************************

 

“Hey man, can I help you?” Sam descended the front porch steps and approached Castiel with a cautiously friendly hand outstretched. Cas grasped it firmly and shook, obviously looking around the other man and towards the house.

 

“Hello Sam. I believe we met at Heavenly Ink - one of Charlie’s library parties?” He attempted to make conversation and tried to think of how short a time span he was socially allowed to hold a handshake. Sam smiled politely.

 

“Yeah… uh… Novak, right? Charlie isn’t here right now,” Sam looked back towards the house uneasily.

 

“Oh, no. I’m, I’m here… for Dean?” Castiel suddenly began rethinking his earlier conversations with Dean. Had he somehow misunderstood the date? The time? The address? Had he suddenly fallen into some alternate reality where he didn’t exist? Was this some kind of joke? Had Dean decided to - no, he wouldn’t…

 

Suddenly the sound of the front screen door banging drew both men’s attention to the front porch. Dean crossed the porch in two steps and bypassed the final two stairs with an enthusiastic hop. He skidded to a stop at Castiel’s side and took a beat to lock eyes with the librarian with a small, private smile.

 

“Hey, you found me,” he said in a much softer tone than would have been expected after his exuberant rush out to Castiel’s side. 

 

“I would have found you eventually, Dean. Never underestimate my tenacity. I would find you in a snowstorm to prove I could,” he huffed indignantly. Dean blushed - Cas could never figure out why simple statements like that would take Dean off-balance.

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet you would too, ya competitive nerd.” He checked Cas’ shoulder affectionately with his own before throwing his arm around the man’s shoulders and facing Sam head on. Sam, for his part, just looked very confused.

 

“Uh… Dean? Aren’t we waiting for-”

 

“Sam!” Dean interrupted quickly. “It is my pleasure to present you with Castiel Novak.” He hugged Cas with the arm around his shoulders and gestured with his other hand to Sam. “Cas? This is Sam. My enormous, incredibly stubborn younger brother. He’s a big fan of the Star Spangled Banner.” Dean shot Sam a look Castiel couldn’t really decipher, but it looked almost challenging. Sam, for his part, looked a bit flustered. 

 

“Cuh- Cas!  _ You’re _ Cas. Oh. Wow. Okay. Wow. Uh… Cool!” He seemed to collect himself slightly and stuck his hand out for another handshake. “Uh, sorry, sorry man. I was, um… just caught off guard.”

 

Cas shook his hand again and looked down at himself. “I apologize if I should have worn something different. I came from work, you see-”

 

    A slightly older blonde woman in a flowery blouse tucked into bluejeans chose that moment to appear in on the steps of the porch. “You look lovely, Castiel. Course, with the way Dean has been raving about you, you could have shown up in tennis shorts and KISS makeup before we looked askance.” She approached the group and gently shook Castiel’s hand. “Mary Winchester, don’t you mind Sam. It’s wonderful to meet you - we were so surprised when Dean suggested having you for dinner! Especially when he wanted to make sure to do it before Sam leaves for California again.” She winked as Dean shrugged self-consciously. 

 

“Well it didn’t seem right to make y’all wait to Winter Break if I, well, I mean, if he was gonna be, y’know… around…” The older Winchester tapered off and stared at where he was scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot. Mary just smiled and grasped Castiel’s upper arm, gently but firmly leading him into the house.

 

“Well, let’s give you the grand tour! Dean, honey, can you pull the pie out of the over when the timer goes off please?” She chuckled, leading the librarian towards the front door, and leaned in conspiratorially. “If we hurry, we might be able to get out the photo albums before they catch up. Dean decided to cut Sam’s hair when he was seven and the results were… well… let’s just say it explains a lot about why Sam grows his hair now.”

 

This caught Castiel’s attention. “Sam does wear his hair rather longer than is generally considered appropriate for a professional male. It seems to cause Dean a great deal of consternation…”

 

Mary snorted. “Consternation? Not so much… jealousy maybe. Those two…” She snorted. “Dean had long hair once. Not the best decision. Then again, Sam tried a beard last year and had about as much success as Dean had with the long hair.”

 

Castiel fell into talking with Mary Winchester almost as easily as he had fallen into conversation with Dean so many weeks ago. They disappeared into the house and headed to the living room. Mary sat him down on the couch and retrieved a book of photos featuring the two boys at varying ages.

  
  


*************************************************

 

    Dean let his mom lead his boyfriend into the house and let Sam stare holes into the top of his head for a moment longer. He was perfectly content to concentrate on getting that pebble on top of that anthill to the left of his boot, thank you very much. Finally Sam broke the silence. 

 

“So… Cas- _ tiel _ .”

 

Dean continued to play with the pebble. “Yep.”

 

“The librarian.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“The… uh… He’s a guy. Right? Like, he’s not-”

 

Dean huffed and looked up, flapping his arms a little helplessly. “Yes. Sam. He’s a dude. With dude parts and a dude brain and he’s gay and I’m maybe bi but I dunno what I’m gonna be considered or whatever because I’m with a dude and this might b-“ He snorted and probably looked like a frustrated bull but didn’t care because Sammy was being stupid about this and if he stayed mad he wouldn’t cry.

 

They stayed quiet for a moment and the tension built between them. Sam was, again, the one to break the silence. “How… uh… How long have you felt like this? Like, since Amara or High School or...?”

 

“I dunno, Sammy. I’ve always looked, y’know? But Dad said it was a phase and then there was Lisa and... god damnit Sammy, can we not do  _ this  _ right now?”

 

“So meeting Cas?” his brother plowed on.

 

“What about Cas?” Dean demanded. 

 

“Was he the only guy you’ve ever… uh… dated?” Sam asked cagily.

 

Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Sammy, you are not smooth,” he sighed. “And not that it’s any of your business but yes, you nosey bastard.”

 

“Ah,” was the taller man’s response. He appeared to consider things for a moment. “And you’re, ah… comfortable? With, like, with everything? Like, he’s not pressuring you or anything?”   
  
“Jesus, Sammy, what am I - fifteen? Yes, I’m comfortable. Cas is a fucking angel for dealing with all my crap. You should  _ be _ so lucky with Jess,” he pointed accusingly. Sam was silent, considering.

 

“Might be?”

 

“What?” Dean snapped.    
  


“You said this might be… and just stopped. This might be what?”

 

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes with his whole head. “I don’t even know what you’re-”

 

“It?”

 

“What?” Dean snapped again. Jesus, he was losing the anger and it was getting replaced with this awful sinking feeling in his chest. God, what if Sammy hated him? Saw this as a failure, just like John…

 

“This might be it for you? Is that what you were gonna say? Dean?” Dean’s jaw muscle tightened but he couldn’t will himself to respond. Sam just continued talking. “I just… cuz I told you the other day, y’know. That Jess might be it for me. And you didn’t tell me there are other fish in the sea or anything like usual… you just told me you were happy for me. And then you told me you wanted me to meet Cas before I left again and, well... “

 

Dean pressed his first knuckle hard against the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight. “That’d be stupid, Sammy. I’ve only known the guy a summer, okay? Besides, that’s not,” he met Sam’s eyes aggressively. “That’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about me. With a guy. I’m bisexual, okay? Dudes and chicks. Dicks and boobs. Equal opportunity employer, right here... Maybe a little less equal, actually. So just lay it on me - how much are you not okay with this? Scale of one to ten.” He planted himself like he was preparing for a blow, and did not expect Sam to stare. He certainly did not expect his little brother to start laughing.

 

“Hey!” Dean was indignant. If his brother was going to destroy him emotionally, he sure as hell better not be laughing about it.

 

Sam attempted to school his expression and ran his hands through his hair. “Sorry. Sorry, Dean,” he giggled as he tried to get himself under control. “I just… I live in Palo Alto,  _ California _ . I’m forty minutes from San Francisco. I’ve marched in the freakin’ Pride Parade! I just wasn’t expecting, y’know… Mr. Tall, Dark, and Bookish to show up as the love of my brother’s life. Sorry, I just had to process. Y’know?”

 

“He’s not…” Dean brushed off, relief and happiness overriding his embarrassment and shame for thinking his brother might react anywhere near as badly as his father had once upon a time. He slumped against the driver’s side door of Castiel’s car, letting the warmth of the metal behind him seep into his bones through his clothes.

 

“He’s not what? Tall, dark, and bookish? Cuz even you can’t argue with that,” Sam teased and leaned against the car next to him.

 

Dean smiled and a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying around lifted off of his chest. He straight up giggled. “Naw, man. He’s not… you know.”

 

“What, the love of your life?” Sam asked jokingly. Dean’s stupid face was a terrible liar.

 

“Yeah. That,” he confirmed lamely.

 

Sam pointed accusingly, delighting in his brother’s uncomfortable situation. “You can’t even deny it! Hah! Oh my god!” He leaned back against the car and stared at the sky, teasing in a sing-song voice, “Deeeean loooooves Caaaaaas, Deeeean loo-”

 

Dean’s hand abruptly stopped any flow of air from his brother’s lungs and Sam found himself on the receiving end of a surprisingly intense stare. “You shut your damned mouth, Samantha. IF it’s true, and I’m not saying it is, he’s sure as hell not hearing it from  _ you _ first. You got that?” Sam nodded and took a deep breath as Dean let go. They stood there, leaning against the car and staring at the horizon for a few more minutes. Again, Sam was the one to break the silence.

 

“So… guys, huh?”

 

Dean smiled. “Ooooh yeah.”

 

“That’s… good.”

 

Dean leered at his brother. “Oh man,  _ so _ good. Dude. Dicks are the  _ best _ -”

 

“AAAAAAAND I’m gonna go check on dinner!” Sam pushed off the car abruptly and started taking long, purposeful strides towards the house. 

 

Dean cackled and started towards the house himself. He found himself alone on the porch as Sam disappeared into the house and took a deep breath, looking around himself with a genuine smile. He caught a flash of blonde through the front window and took a moment to be a stalker and watch his mother and Castiel interact. The aforementioned photo album of Dean in high school with long hair was propped open on Castiel’s lap, Mary leaning over periodically to point and begin gesticulating wildly. Cas looked genuinely happy, his bright smile never quite disappearing completely. 

 

Old Dean Winchester didn’t trust the future, because the world is horrible and mean and tears you down in a moment. New Dean didn’t trust the future much either, but he was starting to think - more and more - that he could trust Castiel Novak.

 

Jesus, what was he getting himself into.

 

    Dean shook his head and went inside to check on Mary’s pie. He pulled it out and made sure Sam hadn’t done anything to jeopardize the lasagna, then made his way to the living room to explain why  _ exactly _ he’d thought going from hair-metal to a buzz cut had been a good idea.

  
  


 

 

 

 

 


End file.
